Inheritance Cycle Book V: Ebrithil
by LandB4Time
Summary: My continuation of the Inheritance Cycle set three years after the fall of Galbatorix. Eragon returns to Alagaesia more powerful and more knowledgeable than ever, but a new power is rising that threatens to undo all that they have accomplished. What price must Eragon pay to save those that he loves? ExA MxN *I own none of the characters/original ideas from Paolini's IC series*
1. A New Home

**A/N: A special thanks to my awesome Beta, MidnightRain6593 for all of her work in helping me make this possible. Read and Review, Chapters will be posted weekly for at least 10 weeks in a row! Enjoy!**

**Inheritance Cycle Book V: Ebrithil**

**Chapter 1: A New Home**

Eragon closed the book and stood up from the table in his quarters and stretched. The book was dwarvish, an account of all the dwarven kings and their clans as well as a history of the dwarvish race as a whole. In the three years since he'd slain the tyrant Galbatorix, Eragon had taken to his studies rigorously. Although neither of the eggs left in Alagaesia had hatched, Eragon felt it was his duty as head of the Riders to be familiar with, if not fluent, in the all the languages spoken throughout Alagaesia. In addition to languages, he had learned much from the memories of the hundreds of Elundari of magic, histories, and secrets of the Riders long since forgotten by mortal minds.

They had sailed for nigh on three weeks down the Edda River, hoping to emerge to the sea beyond, but to their surprise the river split in two around a mountain range similar in size to the mountains of Eragon's childhood. The land was obviously untouched by human, elf, dwarf, or even the nomadic urgals. It was heavily forested at the base of the mountains, and the river ran through the valley and through a large canyon before disappearing into the mountain range. It was here Eragon had decided to rebuild the riders.

The surrounding mountains and heavily forested land offered plenty of nesting sites as well as prey for the wild and bonded dragons alike. Eragon had named the place Du Fells Flauga, or The Flying Mountains, for the dragons that were to inhabit them. The wild dragons had taken a bit longer to hatch than Eragon and Saphira had hoped for, but as of now four of them had hatched; the oldest now approaching a year old with the youngest no more than a few months. Their instincts served them well, and Saphira had not yet had cause to intervene on their behalf, which as Glaedr had told them, was for the best. It would not be good for their development if anyone, even a bonded dragon interacted with them too early.

Eragon paced out onto the balcony that overlooked the valley in which the majority of the new Riders home was situated. He sighed at the sight of the haphazard structures that had sprung up in the last few years. Despite the elves and his own efforts, they hadn't made the sort of progress he would have anticipated or hoped for.

When Eragon had envisioned the Riders new home, he had seen it much like that of Doru Araeba. With huge stone structures built to accommodate hundreds of dragons and riders alike. However, despite all their combined knowledge and strength, neither the elves who had accompanied him, nor the Eldunari were well versed in the art of stone working, a problem Eragon had not foreseen.

"What we need are a couple of Orik's masons…" Eragon muttered to himself.

So instead of the massive stone structures of his visions, Eragon and the elven spellcasters had contented themselves to singing the trees into desirable shapes, similar to the structures in Ellesmera. It was on the balcony of the largest of these trees that Eragon now stood.

Although the building process wasn't quite where he would have liked, he was in no hurry, and instead, along with the elves, he dedicated a large portion of every day to trying to restore the maddened Eldunari. Adding to his frustration, more often than not when they did succeed in making rational contact with the residing dragon, the dragons would ask to pass into the void, a request that none of them could deny. And so at present the count stood at the hundred twenty-two healthy Eldunari.

_You should not trouble yourself so, Little One…_ came Saphira's reply to his current thoughts. _Those we rescued from Galbatorix have lost more than we can imagine, only to be enslaved by the madman who took it from them._

_I know…_ Eragon replied, _But it doesn't make it any easier._

Eragon felt the rush of air that told him Saphira was descending onto the large bowl-like platform that extended from his own quarters. As she landed, Eragon asked: _How was the hunt?_

_Hmmphf… hardly exciting…_ she responded as she settled down to lick her claws, and turned one big eye onto Eragon. _The prey here have never had to deal with a dragon before, it's too easy…_ She complained.

_As if it was ever hard for you?_ Eragon teased.

_Well, it was harder…_ She said with a subtle hint of appreciation at the compliment.

Eragon smiled and walked over to the scrying mirror he kept in the corner of the room, across from Saphira's balcony, so that she too could participate in his observations and conversations.

Throughout his travels with the Varden and especially after the fall of Galbatorix, Eragon had explored much of Alagaesia, so every night he scryed various portions of the land, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In addition to the obligations and politics of leading the Riders, he maintained contact with a number of confidantes and informants of his own. It was one of such that Eragon attempted to contact tonight.

"Dramur Kopa" Eragon muttered, along with additional words in the ancient language to allow verbal communication as well as the visual.

The surface of the mirror shifted and shimmered and a man appeared in it. Three years had added a bit to the wrinkles that surround his sharp blue eyes, but other than that Jeod Longshanks looked better and better every time Eragon saw him.

"Eragon!" Jeod exclaimed, "It's good to see you again!"

"And you, Jeod. Saphira sends her regards as well," Eragon smiled. "How's Helen?"

"Good good, happy as can be…" He replied in a somewhat distracted manner. "Now, Eragon, have you had any word lately?"

Confused Eragon replied, "Nothing out of the ordinary, why what have you heard?"

"Strange rumors have reached my ears; informers of the Arcanea have reported missing travelers, especially those traveling in and around the Beors. With the size of the wildlife around that area, it's not odd for the occasional traveler to go missing, but the number of reports has almost tripled in recent weeks! Arya and Firnen have already flown numerous incursions, but have found nothing out of the ordinary."

Eragon's heart lurched at the mention of Arya, although whether it was out of affection or misery he wasn't sure. He recalled unbidden images of her stunning green eyes and her high-pitched musical laugh, and the scent of crushed pine needles that always accompanied her and he shook his head to focus his thoughts. He had spoken to her only once since his departure and that was in the presence of Nasuada. Arya spent much of her time within the wards of Du Weldenvarden which made magical communication impossible, and Eragon was reluctant to think too much on her as it always left him confused and lonely.

Eragon rubbed the stubble on his chin that he had allowed to accumulate over the past few days to hide his lapse in conversation.

"Thank you, Jeod, I will contact Nasuada and see what she thinks about the issue. It's likely nothing to be too concerned about, but as always I am in your debt, Jeod."

"The whole of Alagaesia owes you a debt Shadeslayer, do not be so quick to think you've run out of favors!"

He disappeared from view, only to return very quickly and appearing quite flustered.

"Ahh I'd almost forgotten; I'm sure you will be informed shortly but I've heard that one of the eggs has hatched, for a dwarf if my sources are to be believed!" His eyes sparkled as he delivered the news.

Astonished, Eragon couldn't believe that he heard this from Jeod, and he resolved to have a stern conversation with both Orik and Nasuada about keeping such information from him. Despite that, Eragon couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. Finally he would have a pupil to train and the riders would once again be on the rise!

"This news lightens my heart Jeod, thank you!"

"Aye, I thought that would please you," Jeod said with a smile "May the stars watch over you, Eragon Shadeslayer."

"And you, Jeod Longshanks."

With a wink, Jeod disappeared from view and Eragon ended the spell. Despite his confident statement, Eragon couldn't help but feel a pang of concern at the tidings. He knew resistance would continue after Galbatorix had fallen, but ambushing peaceful travelers was not something he suspected. He resolved to contact Nasuada the next day and see what light she could shed on these events, if not to make sure she understood his position on the new Dragon and Rider.

Saphira had since fallen into a deep slumber, the exertions of the day finally taking their toll. In spite of all he had learned, Eragon couldn't help but smile at the thought of another dragon and rider joining them soon enough, and with that comforting thought he slipped into the embrace of his waking dreams.

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	2. Stronghammer

**A/N: A special thanks again to my awesome Beta, MidnightRain6593 for all of her hard work correcting my grammar and punctuation errors that so often plague my writing. Couldn't do this without you! **

**Since I'm almost finished with chapter three… I'll make my readers a deal. For every 20 (normal) reviews on either chapter, I'll post Chapter 3 a day early! (eg. 40 reviews and the chapter will get posted next Wednesday (7/30)) instead! (1 review per person!)**

**If not I'll still post on Friday… but how am I supposed to get better/enjoy writing these with no reviews?! I suppose I'll count a Fav towards the total too, since it makes me feel good inside.**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: Stronghammer**

Roran stepped back to admire the structure they had been working on for the past several weeks, and was pleased to see that it was finally beginning to look like the keep he had planned it to be. He smiled to himself at the improvements that had been made to Palcanar Valley in his brief reign as Earl. The structure that stood before him was the beginning of a small keep that was situated at the north end of the valley, about eighteen miles northeast of Carvahall. The keep would be surrounded by a high curtain wall and garrisoned at all times in order to bring stability to the region, and provide a barrier that any invading army must take before moving into the valley.

Although in writing all the races of Alagaesia were at peace with each other, that did not include those urgals for whom Nar Garzvohog did not speak. Unfortunately, that amounted to over half of the urgal population and more and more were breaking the pact every day. Three years ago, when Eragon had wrought the enchantment that would bind the urgals and dwarves to the riders, everyone had assumed the problem to be over. But there were a number of tribal chiefs who disagreed with the decision, and had made their disagreement known in the following months after Eragon's departure. Unfortunately, as of yet an urgal rider had yet to be bonded and more and more tribes were breaking the agreement, angry over Eragon's "betrayal". The tension had resulted in a number of skirmishes between Roran's men and the dissenting urgal tribes. As of yet they had not attacked the valley in force, but Roran knew it was only a matter of time.

Upon returning to Carvahall Roran's first task as Earl of Palcanar Valley was to rebuild the ruined town and he had done so in earnest. Along with the villagers, a large number of Varden and former soldiers of the empire had followed Roran to the valley. With the additional manpower, Roran was able to restore most of Carvahall, as well as construct a number of large barrack like buildings to house those who had followed him. All this was accomplished before the snows had fallen that first year.

In the years to follow, more and more people flooded into the valley for Roran had earned quite a reputation throughout the war, and the population of Carvahall alone had increased nearly six-fold, putting its numbers at nearly two thousand two hundred. Therinsford, a larger town on the southern edge of Palcanar Valley easily tripled in size, and another settlement had sprung up between the two which Roran had named Garrowton. Overall, Roran estimated that he had well over six thousand subjects under his rule. The increase in population led to a huge amount of construction for both housing and defensive purposes. Currently, a tall palisade encompassed all of Carvahall, and Roran's own estate (which the Varden had insisted on building as soon as possible) was protected by a moat and an 8 foot wall of stone. The estate could easily house the entire population of Carvahall for a short while in a time of need. Therinsford was similarly protected, and a keep much like the one he was looking at was in construction on the southern edge of the valley.

In addition to the keeps, a number of watch towers had been placed high in the easternmost range of the Spine where they had a commanding view of the land leading up to the keeps. Small fortified outposts had been positioned in the spine itself, at a number of locations most likely to be used by an attacking force. All of this was connected via a torch system in which a single outpost or watch tower could alert the entire valley in a time of need.

Some said that Roran was obsessed, driven by the same rage that had possessed him during the war. He drove his subjects hard but every man, woman, and child was free to come and go as they pleased and he never treated them unfairly. In a way, Roran was driven by the same force which had propelled him throughout the entire war. The same love that had driven him to do so many great things drove him now, to protect those which he had fought so hard to save. Katrina, Ismira, and now Gerron, his new baby boy.

Every man was expected to put forth a certain amount of time and effort into the construction. Those who had devoted their lives to the military or who had no other profession were given a place to sleep in the barracks and decent rations to help with construction and garrison duties. Roran had started a tax system two years ago, but businesses were recovering slowly and it would be a number of years before he had any sort of substantial income with which to work. Rations were still being shipped in from the Empire, but those would cease in two years' time, which would have been of little concern had he only had the original one thousand two hundred mouths to feed. Now however…

Roran scratched his beard and made a mental note to bring the subject up to Birgit in their next meeting.

A year ago as the population in Palcanar Valley had reached a new high Roran had decided that he could not run Carvahall, Garrowton, and Therinsford by himself. So he had appointed a governor for Therinsford. Although it took a good deal of coercion on Roran's part, Birgit had finally accepted the position and returned to the town of her childhood to govern.

The day was getting long and Roran estimated he had three to four hours of sunlight left, and he resolved to start the journey back home, so as to not be traveling too long in the dark. If he left now he should make it home just after sundown, and he was anxious to see Katrina and his children, whom he hadn't seen in over a week.

He turned and called out to the captain of his guard: "Marcus, ready your men, we'll leave as soon as possible. I want to make it back to Carvahall before dark."

"Yes Sir!" Came the curt reply.

Roran had argued to no end with Nasuada about the need for her to send guards with him and, finally, she had agreed to send four, one of which was a magician, provided that he fill out the rest of the squad with men he'd picked. In addition to Marcus, was Dareon another of Nasuada's handpicked guards as well as four men from Carvahall who had fought with Roran before, among them was Mandel and Baldor one of Horsts sons and one of Roran's best friends.

As he turned he caught the faintest glimpse of something moving in the trees about a hundred-and-fifty yards away. He strained his eyes, but whatever it had been, it was already gone.

_Probably a deer or something…_ he thought to himself.

Just then he heard a hiss followed by a muffled thump and a scream and he turned to see Dareon hunched over in the saddle with an arrow protruding from his right shoulder. Two more arrows flew overhead as Roran pulled his shield from the saddle strap and bellowed: "Get down!"

He leapt from his own horse and threw himself towards Dareon, his shield raised over his head, as his guards and the builders struggled to get out of harm's way. He grabbed Dareon down off the horse as more arrows thumped in the dirt around him, almost as if they were targeting him…

Roran chanced a glance upwards to get a glimpse of where the arrows were coming from, but he didn't have to look very far. Charging out from the trees was a group of urgal rams, roughly fifteen strong, bellowing their war cries as they closed the distance between the two groups with surprising speed.

"To me! To me!" Roran bellowed and his guards collapsed around him, shields up and they began to backstep towards the half-finished keep, covering Roran as he dragged Dareon along.

The arrows had stopped falling, probably because the urgals had opted to charge them rather than sit back and shoot at them, but why they would be charging a group of forty-some-odd men left him a little bit bewildered.

As his small group reached the keep, the other soldiers who had been part of the construction joined the formation and they stood on the far side of one of the outer walls, which at its present state stood only three feet tall, but anything that would slow down the oncoming charge was welcome. He silently cursed himself for allowing Lang to stay home that day. With a magician, there was no doubt they could defeat the urgals, but as lightly armed as the group was now, it would be an ugly fight.

As the urgals closed to thirty yards Roran reached out his right hand and yelled: "Spear!" Someone from behind handed him one, and in one swift motion he hurled the spear at the lead urgal. It struck the urgal in the thigh and sent him sprawling across the open ground between the two groups. Roran had just enough time to pull out his hammer before they closed, the urgals leaping over the wall as if it wasn't there.

The moment the groups collided, Roran knew something was wrong. The first few urgals hurled themselves on the waiting spears heedless to the danger and what's worse they were impaled but seemed not to notice. A sinking feeling filled Roran's stomach as he recalled the laughing soldiers that had plagued the Varden since the Burning Plains…

The men at his back were hacking and stabbing but the urgals somehow pushed through the line, swinging their war clubs and bellowing ferociously even as they were hacked to pieces. The shock of the line breaking cost a number of lives, and Roran snarled as he hopped over a body to get at the nearest urgal. With a savage crunch he brought his hammer down on the urgals head, right between the horns and dropped him.

"Go for the heads!" Roran shouted above the din.

Working his way around the corpse of the urgal he had just slain, he approached a large urgal who bellowed loudly and swung his axe down to cut Roran in half. Roran sidestepped and with a flick of his wrist, broke the urgals wrist and forced him to drop the axe. The urgal hurled itself at him and he barely had time to raise his shield before they collided and went sprawling. Somehow Roran ended up on the bottom, his shield arm pinned as the urgal snarled and closed its huge hands around his neck, heedless of the blow Roran had struck to its wrist moments before. Roran beat at the urgals side with his hammer, but he couldn't reach its head. The world went black…

Suddenly the pressure around his throat slackened and he heaved the huge urgal off of him.

Roran sprang to his feet expecting another assailant any second, but it was quiet. The fighting had stopped and Roran could see it was Baldor who had shoved his spear through the Urgal's head, with a nod of thanks Roran turned to survey the carnage.

Every last urgal lay dead. Most had lost numerous limbs and body parts before finally bleeding out or being killed by a blow to the head or heart. To his dismay, only two of his guards still lived, Baldor and Marcus. Being at the front of the formation, he and his guards had been in the most danger when the line broke. Roran walked over to Mandel's body; his head had been caved in by an axe from behind. Roran cursed the urgals and whatever fiend had enchanted them to feel no pain. Twelve of his men were dead, and another 10 wounded.

Roran was still bewildered as to what the urgals could have possibly gained from this attack. _Obviously they were overconfident because they could feel no pain, but what was the point? To kill the twelve men that they did? Hardly worth the sacrifice. If their goal was to kill the men why didn't they attack us in force?_

All these thoughts were whirling through Roran's head as the answer finally dawned on him…

_To kill me! Their only goal was to kill me, that's why they targeted me with the arrows, that's why there were only a few, because that's all it should have taken… if they wanted to kill me then… oh God!_

_Katrina!_


	3. Return of the Rider

**A/N: Here it is! On time just like I promised! Special thanks once again to my fantastic Beta, MidnightRain6593 for all of her hard work in making this possible.**

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**Chapter 3: Return of the Rider**

The day following his conversation with Jeod, Eragon tried numerous times to contact Nasuada but was unable to speak with her until nearly two days later. She apologized for the delay, but insisted that she had only just found out about the new rider yesterday, thus the reason why she hadn't been available to speak with him until now.

_Jeod's informers must be better than I had thought…to know of such tidings before the Queen of the human race?_ Eragon made a mental note to contact Jeod more often, as he was obviously the best source of information available. Then he turned his attention back to the mirror in front of him.

"Eragon, I apologize if I have offended you, but you must realize that I have a kingdom to run and I cannot consult you on every decision I make. However, it appears that Orik has kept this news from us as well; the egg hatched nearly two weeks ago," Nasuada said, an exasperated look on her face. She looked tired and worn and the ever constant fire in her eyes was nowhere to be found.

"I understand Nasuada. I should not have been so harsh with you," Eragon said with as much sincerity as he could muster, his expression softened. He couldn't help but wonder why Orik would keep information like that from him?

"Nasuada, is everything ok?"

"I… I just… I just don't understand. Everything we did, we did for the people of Alagaesia… and now with Galbatorix gone, I thought things would be so much easier. Riots have broken out in Dras Leona and there is an armed rebellion in Terim, and trade with the dwarves has all but ceased because nobody can travel that way safely. People are finding bones… bones that look as if they've been nibbled clean! Do you understand Eragon? People are being eaten!"

A cold sense of dread gripped Eragon as he remembered what Galbatorix had told him that day in the throne room three years ago.

_Ra'zac!_ The thought was overwhelming, and projected with so much hate and rage that Eragon would have thought it was Roran had he not known Saphira was listening to his conversation.

"How many people have been reported missing?" Eragon asked Nasuada urgently.

"Over a hundred cases have been reported in the last month and a half alone, not to mention the reports from Orik about the unusual number of missing feldunost from their flocks."

If the Ra'zac only feed once a week like it's believed, the number of missing people alone would mean there has to be at least ten or twelve of them. Their parents, the lethrblaka didn't eat humans, but the missing feldunost was certainly an indicator that at least one pair of lethrblaka still existed…could they really have been hiding in the Beors this whole time?

"Nasuada, I believe your missing people can be attributed to only one thing; the Ra'zac are not gone as we had hoped. I believe there are quite a few of them, and even a few of their mounts still at large in the Beors. Your reports only confirmed my suspicions and…"

A sudden twinge in the back of Eragon's mind cut him off, and he was confused as to what it was.

_The rings Eragon, Roran or Katrina must be in danger!_ said Saphira.

Then he remembered the gold rings he had given Roran and Katrina on their wedding day that would allow them to find each other and know when the other was in danger. They also allowed Eragon to know whether either of them was in trouble.

_Roran!_

"Eragon, are you alright?!" Nasuada looked concerned. The sudden interruption and its consequences had made Eragon forget completely that he had been having a conversation.

"Forgive me, but I've just received news that Roran may be in danger."

"What do you mean received news? Eragon, what's going on?" Nasuada looked at him suspiciously.

"Nevermind how I know; Can I ask a favor of you?" Eragon asked urgently.

"Of course, what do you need?"

"I need you to send ten men on the fastest horses you can find. One to Arya in Du Weldenvarden, and the other nine to Carvahall. If you have a magician to spare, send them with the group to Carvahall. Tell Arya what I suspect about the Ra'zac."

"I will do what I can, but Arya left for Farthen Dur with all speed the moment we found out about the new Rider. She sent word that she had been in Ceris at the time and even traveling with a full complement of guards, I imagine she'll move quickly. She should arrive in at Farthen Dur in two or three days," Nasuada explained

Eragon felt the twinge in the back of his mind again.

_Saphira, I think we should…_

_Return home,_ She finished for him.

"Thank you your majesty, you've given me much to consider. I'm sure we will speak again soon," Eragon said sounding much more rushed than he intended to.

"I don't know what you're planning Eragon and if you won't tell me I respect that, but please do not do anything foolish. You are our greatest hope of restoring the riders and bringing peace and prosperity back to Alagaesia. After all you two have done, it would be a shame to lose you now."

"Thank you for your concern, Nasuada, but I'm sure you'd agree that we can take care of ourselves," he said with a wink. "May the stars watch over you, Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad."

"And you as well, Eragon Bromsson."

Eragon ended the spell, and immediately went to find Blodgharm.

After explaining the situation, Eragon and Blodgharm agreed that Eragon would only take a few of the Eldunari, with Glaedr as a focal point, and the rest would stay here under the protection of the elves. It took some convincing on Eragon's part but Blodgharm finally agreed that Eragon and Saphira could travel much faster alone than if they were accompanied. Traveling as they were, Eragon expected to make Hedarth in about seven days. While the elves readied Saphira's saddle and packed his armor, food, and water into the saddlebags, Eragon and Blodgharm went to retrieve the Eldunari.

Two hours since the end of his conversation with Nasuada, they were ready to depart.

_Let us be off!_ Saphira said, kneading the ground with her claws.

"Fly safely, Saphira Brightscales and Eragon Shadeslayer," purred Blodgharm.

Eragon nodded in thanks and Saphira took two running steps and leapt into the air, flapping to gain altitude.

They were off! Returning to Alagaesia for the first time in three years! Eragon's heart was filled with joy, and yet at the same time he feared what he might find.

The journey was rather uneventful. Saphira made good time with a slight tailwind coming out of the southeast, and then they followed the Edda up towards Hedarth. On the morning of the fifth day, they ran into a heavy fog so thick that neither of them could see more than a quarter mile in any direction. To add to their frustration, a brisk headwind had also picked up early that morning after they set off, but Saphira flew on, relying on her innate sense of direction to keep them on course. Every now and then they would dip down and make sure they were still over the river and in this manner, they were able to keep pushing through the fog.

Around midday the fog had begun to lift slightly, but Eragon smelled it long before he saw it; smoke.

_Saphira, we must be nearing Hedarth I can smell the smoke._

_Yes, I smelled it awhile back,_ Saphira replied, and although her breathing was ragged Eragon, sensed a certain pride emanating from her for getting them there so quickly.

_You did great, Saphira,_ Eragon said, hugging her neck as she descended in the direction of the smell, still moving upriver.

_Eragon, something is wrong. The smoke: it smells wrong._

Concerned, Eragon drew his bow and strung it. He could smell it now, too. It smelled like battle, like when Saphira would roast an entire platoon of Empire soldiers. An image from long ago flashed through his mind. When he and Brom had first set out from Carvahall, the town they had found where he had first used magic… Yazuac. A sense of dread gripped Eragon as he vividly recalled the scene.

_Saphira, hurry!_

Before she could land, the fog lifted enough to reveal Hedarth, or what was left of it anyway. The small town was burnt to the ground. Nothing left of the buildings that once stood and there was no one to be seen.

Wary of a threat, Eragon dismounted and Saphira took off to scout above the ruined settlement. Eragon approached cautiously, arrow notched and bow drawn ever so slightly.

_I see nothing,_ Saphira relayed, and all of Eragon's caution was for naught. There wasn't a soul to be found in the settlement, except for the small pile of bodies in the middle of the square, burnt to a crisp.

"Brazul!" Eragon cursed out loud. As he turned away from the sight, he noticed something odd in the pile. Covering his mouth with his jerkin, he approached it. It was a horn, more specifically an urgal horn, still attached to an urgal hidden at the bottom of the pile of bodies. The ground shook as Saphira landed a couple of yards away.

_Urgals,_ He told her. _It seems they all don't agree the peace wrought by Garzvahog, or their inclusion into the Riders pact._

_There is nothing we can do now, except go and deliver this news to Orik._

_But what about Roran? He could still be in danger._

_Roran is your kin, he will always be in danger. He is a very capable, two-legs-round-ears, and you have felt nothing since that first night. No little one, we must go to Orik first, he must be told._

_Saphira has the right of it, young one. You must warn Orik,_ Glaedr said in his deep rumbling voice.

_Right then, let's go see Orik._

With that, they took off in the direction of Farthen Dur, flying fast and scanning for the urgals the whole while. Only a few hours after leaving the ruins of Hedarth, he spotted a figure on horseback riding hard in their direction as if he was running from something. Eragon looked behind the rider and he could barely see a number black figures that were only maybe a mile to a mile and a half behind the rider. The pursuers appeared to be on foot and yet, they were closing the distance on the overladen horse, for Eragon had been mistaken; there were two riders on the horse. From their current height, Eragon could not tell friend from foe and as Saphira dipped lower, he extended his consciousness towards the rider in front, confident he could overcome any counterattack.

His probe was met with a sharp stab of pain as the rider engaged him ferociously. Eragon recoiled and quickly shielded his own mind, but the assailant did not pursue him. Something oddly familiar struck him about the way the rider had engaged him, attacking with a mental probe of his own instead of shielding his mind as most magicians would do. The rider was obviously elvish, as only the elves were so well versed in such tactics of the mind. So Eragon reached out for the rider again, this time repeating a phrase in the ancient language:

_Eka ai fricai un Shur'tugal! I am a rider and a friend._

The phrase must have startled the rider, because his pace slowed and for the first time, he glanced skyward. It was an elf that he did not recognize, with long silver, almost white hair that was held back by a slim silver circlet. He held a long, thin blade in his right hand and his left was holding the reins of the horse, but it was not the elf in front that caught Eragon's attention. Behind him on the horse sat another elf, this one with long raven hair that was held in place by a simple leather strap. Eragon gasped as she looked skyward…

Arya!

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	4. Baruk

**A/N: Here we are again, a week later as promised! Special thanks again to my awesome Beta, MidnightRain6593 for her work on this chapter and all the others, wouldn't be possible without you!**

**Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter, it makes it so much more fun to write knowing people enjoy what I'm doing. I also appreciate the constructive feedback, it only makes me better! Drop a review for a sneak peak of next week's chapter!**

**Finally, I know this chapter is shorter than the previous two. I apologize, but I promise it's not just a filler, it's necessary to move along the story. Plus we get a brand new POV! I'll make it up to you with the next two, which should both be longer than anything I have yet!**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chatper 4: Baruk**

Baruk was still in shock. Three weeks later he still found it hard to believe that at forty-four years old, he had been chosen as the first Dwarven Dragon Rider!

The egg that had been given to the dwarves was ferried between clans by an honor guard, made up of five warriors from each clan. Each warrior was handpicked and tested for loyalty before given the position; they were the best of the best. Baruk had not been among them. That was three years ago. Last year the egg had been swapped with the one given to the Urgals which had not hatched either, in the hopes that one of them would hatch for the other race. Again Baruk had not made the cut. But just three weeks ago the honor guard had been attacked by a rogue band of dwarvish outlaws on its way to Tarnag. Two of the warriors from Durgrimst Quan were injured severely in the skirmish, and he was chosen as a temporary replacement.

As soon as he approached the egg it had begun to shake and rattle and the other guards look on in astonishment as a tiny silver head forced its way out of the shell, followed by a leg and then the rest of Argeten burst forth from his enclosure. Baruk had reached forward instinctively to touch the creature…

He could still perfectly recall the icy sting that had encompassed his entire body, the first time he touched Argeten. He looked down at his palm to ensure himself it was all real. His thick finger traced the pattern of the Gedwey ignasia that adorned his left palm.

He was young for a dwarf, but tall. Standing at four-and-a-half feet, he towered over many members of his race. As a member of Durgrimst Quan, he was well versed in the dwarven faith, although he had not been groomed as a priest himself. He had no immediate family, and as such his bloodline was not pure enough to grant him even the possibility of becoming a priest. Instead, Baruk had been raised a warrior, trained in the arts of war to protect the temple of Helzvog and the priests therein.

_But no more am I a glorified bodyguard, now I am a rider!_ He thought to himself, squirming with pleasure at the thought.

The Queen of the Elves had left just two days ago after making all speed to Farthen Dur to meet him and Argeten as soon as the egg had hatched. She was remarkable! The perfect picture of grace and beauty and she had come all that way just to meet him! Baruk smiled as he remembered his first encounter with the Queen and how pleased she'd been to meet Argeten.

Since Argeten had hatched, Baruk had hardly left the room high up in Farthen Dur that was made to accommodate the dragons. Here he slept and ate with his partner of heart and mind, never leaving his side. As soon as he was large enough to ride, the Queen herself had promised to take Baruk to where Eragon Shadeslayer awaited to begin his training.

He had only ever glimpsed the legend that was Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular when they passed through Celbedeil more than 4 years ago…

He had begged Grimsborith Gannel to allow him to accompany the warriors that had marched with King Hrothgar to aid the Varden, and again with King Orik at the final battle of Urubaen, but both times he was denied his request. His prowess as a warrior was not the question. Baruk had already proven himself in nearly every form of combat during his training, surpassing dwarves nearly twice his age as he moved up through the ranks of the Temple Guard. Gannel had believed that The Varden and their allies would not prevail over the mad king, and he had been reluctant to send any of his warriors to their death. He had sent the minimum required by the royal decree but he kept his finest warriors in Celbedeil, the seat of Durgrimst Quan.

He should have taken it as a compliment, to be considered one of the finest warriors of Durgrimst Quan, but he didn't. He was bitter at the loss of an opportunity to prove himself in a real battle and resented Gannel for doubting King Orik's cause. So when Argeten had hatched for him he had stayed in Farthen Dur, instead of returning to Celbedeil as Gannel had insisted. His choice had caused much tension between himself and his clan; it was part of the reason he was so anxious to get to Du Fells Flauga.

Baruk walked over to where Argeten was sleeping soundly in the fading sunlight that sparkled off his brilliant silver scales and laid a hand on his snout. The dragon opened one eye to look at him and hummed with pleasure. At three weeks old, he was roughly the size of a small cow, and Baruk sat down cross-legged and leaned up against the dragon's front shoulder.

_How long will it be until you're big enough for us to travel to Du Fells Flauga?_

_Be patient young one… it will be many weeks yet until I can carry your weight. You are small but… mmm…heavy?_ He said with a deep guttural sound that Baruk took for laughter.

_Speak for yourself, you're a cow with wings and only three weeks old!_

Argeten growled and bared his teeth. _Cows are food. I would like to see anything try and eat me!_

_Aye, I'm sure you'd be quite difficult to digest my friend!_

_Hmmpf…good night. young one._ And with that, Argeten closed his eyes and immediately dropped back into sleep.

Baruk smiled and closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the Elf Queen…Arya? Yes, yes, that was her name, so beautiful and…

Crash!

Baruk awoke suddenly at the sound. Voices were shouting in the hallway outside his room. Argeten sprang to his feet and growled at the door as Baruk snatched up his Huthvir and stood at the dragon's left shoulder.

The noise intensified as Baruk's guards shouted and then groaned as metal crashed to the stone floor.

All was quiet.

Baruk took a step forward towards the door and stopped as it slowly swung open and eight figures entered the room. They were dwarves, judging by their stature. In long black cloaks, the figures moved with surprising speed and grace, spreading out in a line and advancing towards Baruk and Argeten. Some held short swords and others longs spears with wicked barbed heads.

_Fly!_ Baruk told his partner. _One of us must get out alive! And you are more important, Fly Argeten!_

_Dragons do not flee!_ He growled.

And Argeten sprang forward, landing on the attacker on the far right and closed his jaws around its throat, whipping his head to the side and breaking his neck.

At the same time, Baruk leapt into position, protecting the dragon's left flank as he swept the Huthvir up towards the nearest assailant, but the dwarf was fast, too fast, and he blocked the blow with a quick turn of his short sword. Using the double ended weapon to his advantage, Baruk slammed the other end into the attacker's knee, who didn't even flinch as the weapon struck home. Baruk finished him by sweeping the Huthvir down onto the nape of his neck.

_Why are they so fast?!_ He wondered to himself.

But there were too many, and they were unnaturally quick. Already two had closed on Argeten's back and pricked him numerous times with their wicked looking spears as he fended off another on his right. Baruk felt a fiery pain in his own backside as Argeten roared his displeasure.

As he turned to help his partner of heart and mind he felt a sharp pain in his lower leg, and looked down to see the dwarf he thought he'd slain holding onto the dagger he had plunged into Baruk's calf. He felt hot blood trickle down his leg as he kicked hard to detach himself from his attacker.

Gaining space he hefted the Huthvir and threw it at the attackers who had already closed on Argeten's rear. The weapon struck one in the chest and continued through the man and into the next.

But the move had cost Baruk his position and his weapon, and as he turned and drew his long bladed dagger he felt cold steel descend through his right shoulder and stop as the blade caught on his collar bone and stuck with a sickening grating sound.

The force of the blow slammed Baruk to his knees and he gasped as pain racked his entire body, as he fell he looked down in astonishment as another blade sprouted from his belly, his eyes glazed over in pain and tears as he glimpsed Argeten rear up on his hind legs and a spear catch him in the right shoulder.

The world was a haze of pain and sadness as the memories of the last few weeks flashed through his mind, Baruk slowly drifted out of consciousness.

All was silent and the darkness closed, embracing him like an old friend.

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	5. Flight

**Here we are again, a week later as promised! Halfway to the promised 10 weeks before life catches up! Thanks again to my amazing Beta, MidnightRain6593 for her work here and in all of my writing. You make this possible.**

**Thanks to everyone who has been reading. Special shout-out goes to A Dragon's Spirit, RestrainedFreedom , and INQ8448 for being consistent readers and reviewers! If you haven't checked out RestrainedFreedom's story, Discovering Freedom I highly recommend what he has done so far!**

**Finally as promised this chapter is much longer than the previous one and we get 2 POV's! Be sure to drop that review and tell me what you think and I'll give you a sneak peak of next week's chapter! (Which is pretty epic!)**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5: Flight**

Arya was weary, not physically so much as mentally and emotionally. The last few weeks had been extremely hectic, having to stop her tour of the elven cities for a mad rush to Farthen Dur to meet this new rider. What's more, she was unimpressed. She had expected the new rider to be someone of consequence, someone who had proven themselves in battle. This child of a dwarf was cocky and overconfident, everything a Rider did not need. But she knew she could not judge this new Rider based solely on his age and appearance, for she had once thought the same of another Rider not too long ago and he had proven to be the greatest of them all.

Eragon…the very thought of him made her more exhausted, and even a bit sad. She knew that she had done the right thing, staying and taking her mother's place as Queen. Her people needed her, and she had dedicated her life to them. She knew that letting him go was the only option she had, but it still pained her to think about the way he had looked at her when she left so abruptly aboard that ship nearly three years ago. She shook her head to clear her mind; she had more important matters to attend to.

"Tuor, we will camp here for the night, it as good a spot as any," she said to the captain of her guard.

"Yes, my queen," Tuor replied

Arya slid down off of her horse and stretched; her legs were sore from being in the saddle so much and the monotonous riding was nothing compared to being on dragon back. Alas, that was probably why she was so sick of this journey. She had not been away from Firnen for this long since he had hatched and she silently cursed the circumstances which had caused it.

They had parted on the edge of Du Weldenvarden, after visiting Ceris on her yearly trip throughout the elven cities. Arya had received the news of the new Rider and they were planning to fly to Farthen Dur with all speed, when she was contacted by one of Nasuada's magicians. An armed rebellion had broken out in Terim, and Nasuada had requested that Ayra and Firnen fly there to help suppress the rebellion. She said that the sight of a rider and dragon would give her men hope and instill fear in the rebels. She hoped to end the rebellion without the need for too much bloodshed. Arya had immediately declined, but Tuor reminded her that she had a duty as a Queen and as a Rider. So a compromise was made; Arya would travel to Farthen Dur with her guards and Firnen would fly to Terim and try to end the rebellion by showing up and putting on a show. If more was required, Firnen would fly back to Ceris and he and Arya would then travel to Terim together and deal with the rebels. It was a compromise for everyone except Arya and Firnen. Neither of them wanted to part with the other, but they realized their loyalties required it of them; for now at least.

Arya surveyed the area she had chosen. A clump of trees atop a small hillock that gave a decent view of their surroundings; the slope of the hill had very sparse vegetation meaning any approach would be easily visible to the elves hidden among the trees. Her guard was made up of ten of the finest warriors and spellcasters of her race. Half of them were her mother's guards that had survived the battle of Uru'baen and the other half she had handpicked from the overwhelming amount of volunteers. She was confident that the eleven of them could hold their own against any threat.

After checking to make sure the protective spells that would warn them of any approach were cast appropriately and the first round of sentries posted, Arya sat on the soft earth and leaned back against a large fir tree. Elves never brought tents with them when they traveled, preferring to rest under the stars, and Arya was weary so she welcomed the embrace of her waking dreams.

They rose early the next morning, for Arya intended to make Hedarth by nightfall and hopefully be within Du Weldenvarden before nightfall of the following day. Not long after they departed the hillock on which they had camped the night before, the trail they were following took them through a fairly thick clump of trees. Wary of the fact that numerous travelers had mysteriously gone missing in and around the Beors recently, Tuor formed the guards into a tight ring around Arya and he rode alongside her.

Arya did not believe she needed the extra protection as her own skill and wards had served her well enough in the past, but she did not dare insult Tuor's pride by telling him that it was unnecessary. He had served a long time with her mother and was grief stricken when he learned of her death. He blamed himself for not being there, as he had been carried out of the city with numerous wounds not long before Islanzadi's fatal encounter with Lord Barst.

Although Arya had not been extremely close with her mother, she still struggled with the fact that she was gone. It pained her that they were separated before they were ever given the chance to mend their relationship. She knew that was what he mother had wanted, but Arya had made her choice. She had always felt it was her duty to serve all of the races of Alagaesia, but after her mother died and Eragon slew Galbatorix, she knew that it was her own people who needed her most. She did not revel in her position, she did not find joy in ruling her people, but it needed to be done and she was the one they had turned to. She had no choice.

"We're making good time, my Queen. We will reach Hedarth well before nightfall. We are already almost out of the Beors, and once we make the plains we can travel much faster," Tuor said, striking up a conversation and drawing Arya out of her reverie.

"Yes, just as I had hoped. I'm ready to be rid of these mountains. Something has changed here since I last visited, and not for the better." Arya didn't know what it was, but something about the mountains had made her uneasy ever since they passed under their shadow a week ago. She was anxious to make it to the plains where they could follow the river with more speed to Hedarth. The sooner she reached Ceris and Firnen, the better.

Arya stopped her horse. Something was wrong, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Tuor, do you hear that?" She asked her captain.

Tuor stopped and listened. "I hear nothing, my Queen."

"Exactly, not even a bird." Arya extended her consciousness around her and could feel the life force of the trees and plants, but no animals, not even an insect.

Tuor realized what she meant and drew his blade, and the rest of the guards followed suit. "We need to move, now!"

But it was too late. As they spurred their horses forward, arrows zipped in from the surrounding trees. Four of her guards fell instantly, long black shafted arrows sprouting from various portions of their bodies.

_Why didn't their wards protect them? How could this happen? We should have been alerted of any approach! Wha…_

An arrow struck Arya in the thigh and she screamed as it dug in and scraped against her femur. She spurred her horse forward, followed closely by Tuor and her remaining guards hoping to win clear of the heavy vegetation to where they could turn and fight their assailants. Arya muttered a quick spell consisting of numerous words of death, but to no avail. She sensed motion on either side of them, and briefly glimpsed two black figures spring from the trees and fall upon one of her guards, thin pale blades gleaming as they sliced through the elf with ease.

Two figures appeared on the path before her, holding the same long pale blades. Arya jerked the reins and her horse veered to the left. With a mighty looping swing, she swung Tamerlin downward and caught one of the men in the breast, cleaving through skin and flesh alike. Then, she was free of the trees and she burst into the open and rode hard for a hundred yards before pulling her mount into a quick turn so that she could face her attackers.

As she turned, an arrow sped from the trees and caught her in her left bicep, tearing through both flesh and muscle alike, narrowly missing the bone as it continued all the way through her arm. The pain was unbearable and she slumped in the saddle. She glimpsed a few of her guards, making their way through the edge of the trees, riding hard towards her. She was falling, losing consciousness…

She pointed her sword hand at the trees and muttered "Brisingr."

Tuor was hard on his Queen's heels, ignoring the pain that radiated from the deep gash on his thigh, only concerned with reaching Arya before the attackers. He saw her turn just as he broke free of the vegetation and saw the arrow tear through her left arm, she screamed. The scream cut through Tuor like an icy dagger, causing him more pain than the wound on his thigh.

He saw her begin to fall as she raised her sword towards him. He was hit with a blast of heat and light as the trees behind him burst into flame, but he kept riding intent on making it to her before she fell from her horse.

He reached her just as she was sliding out of the saddle, already unconscious and he grabbed her left arm with his free hand and swung her onto the back of his own horse. He felt the blood that coated her arm. She was bleeding profusely from the hole left by the arrow. "Waise heil," he muttered, and the flesh crawled back together and the bleeding stopped. He snapped off the arrow that was stuck in her thigh; there was no time to remove it now. He turned and saw the clump of trees. They had just emerged from in flames, and saw the bodies of two more of his friends sprawled halfway between the trees and his current position.

He cursed. There was no way they could not make a stand now. With Arya unconscious and himself wounded, they stood little chance, no matter how many of the attackers emerged from the trees. He was still stunned by the suddenness of the attack; they had no warning and their wards had failed them completely and utterly. He saw a number of figures cloaked in black emerging from the fire seemingly unharmed as the flames whirled around them.

Tuor turned his horse and spurred it forward away from the attackers, aware that they would give chase as soon as they had regrouped. He felt confident in seeing that none of them were on horseback and knew that even with the two of them on its back, his horse could easily outrun the assailants for a short while.

The land sped by as Tuor came to where the foothills of the Beors began and he pounded over the road that followed the river. He chanced a glance back and saw that the assailants had regrouped and were giving chase on foot. They ran awkwardly, but fast and Tuor felt sick as he realized who they were: Ra'zac. They would not tire soon and when his horse flagged, they would close the distance and he would die fighting to protect his queen.

Tuor pushed the thought from his mind and focused on coaxing every ounce of speed from his mount. He felt Arya's hand tighten around his waist and a brief feeling of relief washed over him as he realized that she had regained consciousness.

_Ra'zac, my queen. That's why we didn't sense them approach. That's why they are so fast_, Tuor relayed to Arya through a mental link.

_They will catch us eventually… we must fight while we still have strength…_ Arya responded weakly.

Tuor noticed that her mind seemed fuzzy, almost clouded over. While his horse still had strength he would continue to run, putting as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible before they would turn and fight.

Several hours of hard riding later he could feel that his mount was beginning to flag, its breathing came hard and its pace was slackening. Tuor urged the horse on with words in the ancient language, telling him what would happen if the Ra'zac caught them. He had put a lot of distance between himself and the Ra'zac, but could still make them out in the distance coming at an even, steady pace about a mile and a half back.

Tuor drew his blade and prepared to turn and fight, but he was surprised when he felt the touch of another mind, one similar to an elf but not quite right. He attacked the mental probe with one of his own, driving the strange consciousness back. For a moment he had respite, but then he felt it again. This time it was repeating a phrase, faint at first but stronger as Tuor strove to understand the words.

_Eka ai fricai un Shur'tugal!_ I am a rider and a friend.

Confused, Tuor looked up and beheld a glorious sight: A massive blue dragon was descending fast towards them. There was only one person in the world it could be. Shadeslayer!

Arya turned her gaze skyward at a nudge from Tuor and saw the huge blue dragon descending in front of them.

_Saphira?_ Arya thought, confused, but that would mean…_Eragon?!_

A mixture of relief, pain, and confusion washed over Arya as she watched Saphira and Eragon close the distance between them. _I am weak… I am dreaming._ She convinced herself. But nonetheless the vision gave her hope.

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	6. Let Us End This Fight

**A/N: Here we are once again, a week later as promised! Thanks to my Beta, MidnightRain6593 for her help once again.**

**Special thanks to all those consistent reviewers, you guys make writing this a blast! Make sure you drop a review to get a sneak peak at next week's chapter!**

**The longest chapter we've had so far this one is all action! We finally see Eragon in battle and the first meeting of Eragon and Arya! **

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6: Let Us End This Fight**

Saphira landed heavily about fifty yards in front of Arya and the other Elf. Eragon leapt down from the saddle, bow strung and arrow ready as the elves approached. He wanted nothing more than to run up and embrace Arya, but he kept his composure. It would not be appropriate in front of the other elf, whom Eragon had never seen before. More importantly, he was still acutely aware of the way Arya had left him on that ship three years ago. He knew that no circumstance would change her mind, and that it would be best if he completed what he had set out to do and then returned to Du Fells Flauga. However; as the elves approached, Eragon couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Well met, Shadeslayer, Bjartskular!" Said the silver haired elf. "My name is Tuor, captain of Queen Arya's guard. Your timing could not be better!"

"So it seems!" Eragon replied, then turning his attention to Arya. "Atra esterni ono thelduin. Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr. Un du evarinya ono varda, Arya Drottning."

Arya moved to get off the horse but she did not respond. As she slid to the ground Tuor turned and tried to stop her, but she landed and fell. Eragon took one long stride and dropping his bow he caught her underneath both armpits as she fell and hoisted her back to her feet.

She looked at him said faintly, "Eragon?" It was more of a question than a greeting.

"She was shot twice when the Ra'zac ambushed us a few hours back. I healed the wound in her arm, but did not have time to properly examine the one in her thigh," Tuor told Eragon as he dismounted himself.

Eragon frowned at the mention of the Ra'zac and picking Arya up, he laid her flat on the ground. A quick few words and he numbed the pain in her thigh by suppressing the nerves there, and then he carefully extracted the remnants of the arrow that was embedded deep in the muscle and tissue. Speaking quickly, he knitted the muscle and flesh back together. Arya sighed in relief as the pain abated and for the first time she looked at Eragon with understanding.

Eragon smiled at her and offered her a hand to help her to his feet. Between the three of them and Saphira, they could easily overcome the eight or so Ra'zac that were giving chase, provided there was no magician amongst them, which Eragon seriously doubted.

Composing herself, Arya addressed Eragon, "Eragon, it seems you have a knack for showing up when things get interesting. I'm in your debt once again, Shadeslayer." She flashed him a quick knowing smile that made his heart jump. After all these years and all his training, she could still reduce him to a puddle with a single glance. The number of things he yearned to say to her was great, but he held his tongue and simply smiled and nodded at the greeting.

_We must be quick. The egg-breakers will be upon us very soon_, Saphira voiced to all three of them, looking out in the direction Tuor and Arya had come from.

Taking charge of the situation Arya said, "Between the four of us we can easily defeat the Ra'zac should they try to…" Her voice trailed off and she put her hand to her head, and sank to one knee. Concerned, Eragon moved towards her but Tuor reached her first.

Tuor was muttering in the ancient language, examining the wound on her upper arm. Frowning Eragon noticed that red lines extended from where the arrow had punched through muscle and flesh. The wound looked healed, but it was obvious to Eragon that the arrow had been poisoned.

"It's a poison, but one that I've never seen before," Tuor told him. Arya muttered something about being fine and tried to rise to her feet.

Eragon looked up. The Ra'zac were closing, less than a half mile away now.

"I dare not try anything here, not without knowing what type of poison it is. I could kill her if I made a mistake," Tuor continued, "We have to get her to Ceris. There is a woman there, Angela, who could help her I am sure."

_Saphira, you need to fly Arya and Tuor to Ceris…_

_I can carry all of you, but we should deal with these egg-breakers first…_ She growled

_We have no time; this poison could kill Arya in a matter of hours for all we know… You must fly them to Ceris with all speed…_

_And leave you here? Hmmmpff I think not, I will take Arya but the silver-haired-pointy-ears will stay with you._

_Saphira, what happens if you run into those Urgals? If they have a spellcaster with them, which I imagine they do you will be helpless. No, Tuor and Arya will both go with you, and I will stay and deal with the Ra'zac. I have Glaedr and the Eldunari, they will not harm me._

There was a tense moment of silence in their connection and Eragon knew that Saphira was battling back her protective instincts and emotions in order to try and see his reasoning.

_Fine!_ Saphira growled angrily, _But I will return for you as soon as I reach Ceris!_

The matter settled, Eragon approached Tuor. Arya was starting to come to again, and so he spoke quickly and quietly to Tuor. "Your duty is to your Queen, is it not?" When Tuor nodded, Eragon continued. "You will fly Arya back to Ceris on Saphira. I will stay and deal with the Ra'zac; we cannot have creatures as foul as they running loose in Alagaesia."

Tuor nodded.

"No! I will stay and fight! You do not give orders to me Eragon!" Arya had awoken, apparently not pleased with the plan.

Eragon nodded to Tuor and the two of them picked Arya up and bodily threw her onto the back of Saphira and strapped her legs into the saddle. She kicked and cursed them the whole while, even ordering Tuor to stand down and release her. To Eragon's relief he did not obey. When Tuor was settled behind her, Eragon released her and whispered, "Forgive me, Arya"

Her eyes burned, fierce with anger and a tear fell down her cheek. "I will never forgive this, Eragon, never!" Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out again. Eragon grabbed the pack containing his armor and leapt from Saphira's saddle shouting "Fly, Saphira, fly!"

With a huge bound, Saphira unfurled her wings and leapt into the air, flapping hard. _I will return for you little-one, please be in one piece when I do…_

_Of course, Saphira. Fly safe, fly fast!_

Eragon donned his armor quickly. Years of practice and a little bit of his own meddling to the design had made the task extremely efficient. After the incident below Dras-Leona with the crystals that inhibited the use of magic, he had been much more appreciative of his armor, realizing that where magic could fail, steel would not.

_We are ready Eragon, let us cleanse this land of these foul egg-breakers once and for all! You have our strength, use it,_ said Glaedr. A chorus of approval rang forth from the other forty or so Eldunari that resided in the pocked of space behind his head. The Ra'zac's approach had slowed at the sight of Saphira, but her leaving only encouraged them and they picked up the pace once again.

They were now only three hundred yards from where Eragon stood atop a small rise, the river running swiftly to his left as he turned to face his foe, eight of them moving quickly towards him swords drawn and shields swinging on the opposite arm. Brisingr at his hip, Eragon raised his yew bow, a gift from Islanzadi many years ago. He sighted down the shaft, his breathing slowed, and years of experience hunting the spine and fighting with the Varden took over. He nudged the arrow slightly in front of the approaching Ra'zac on the far right of the group and released. The arrow sped from the bow and hummed through the air. At nearly 250 yards such a shot would be deemed impossible for any man, but he was no man and his superior coordination and eyesight gave him confidence and the arrow found its mark. Catching the Ra'zac in what Eragon guessed to be its throat. Relieved that they did not appear to have wards, and that the daylight was obviously affecting their eyesight, he notched another arrow. Having noticed their dead comrade the remaining Ra'zac slowed their approach, and continued on slowly with shields raised. Frustrated, Eragon threw the bow aside as the Ra'zac closed to within fifty yards.

Aware of the arrow wounds Arya had suffered, Eragon retrieved his own shield from where it lay on the ground and crouched, holding the shield over his head and torso, while still keeping an eye on the approaching Ra'zac. He did not draw his sword just yet, but when the first Ra'zac closed to within forty yards he shouted "Thrysta Brisingr" and a ball of fire erupted from his palm and sped towards the nearest Ra'zac. The fireball exploded harmlessly as it contacted the wards that protected them.

He smiled grimly and whispered The Word, ever so quietly, which would strip all wards from his opponents making it easy to destroy them with a few short words. Again he spoke the words in the ancient language, extending his hand towards his attackers he grinned wolfishly as they continued to approach, unaware of their impending demise. "Thrysta Brisingr!" Another fireball shot from his palm towards the same Ra'zac as before. The fireball exploded against the Ra'zac's wards once again.

Eragon felt the icy fingers of fear grabbing hold in the back of his mind… The Word had never failed before; it had been the undoing of Galbatorix himself! This can't be happening… There are only three of us in all of Alagaesia who know that word… could it be? No! He pushed the thought from his mind, unwilling to accept the evidence he saw before him.

His greatest advantage was useless, and Eragon knew that he was in for the fight of his life.

The attackers stopped at twenty yards, never having fired a shot themselves and formed a half circle around Eragon. Seven left, he could not kill them with magic, he could not take over their minds, and so he was left with Brisingr, which he drew slowly from its sheath. Rising to his full height Eragon pushed his doubts to the back of his mind, lowered his shield so that it covered his abdomen and groin and then he spoke in the ancient language the same challenge he had issued over three years ago.

"Come, O thou eater of men's flesh, let us end this fight of ours."

A series of clicks answered his challenge, and it seemed as if the Ra'zac were almost laughing at him. The biggest of them stepped forward and spoke in the common tongue.

"Our master will be displeased that we did not kill the Elf-Queen-Rider…" The Ra'zac hissed. "But your head will be a nice…. Surprisssssse…"

The seven Ra'zac moved as one closing the remaining distance with surprising speed, aiming to surround him on three sides and push him to the river. But Eragon was ready for them. He took three running steps towards the biggest Ra'zac that had spoken and launched himself into the air just out of reach of the pale flickering blade that slashed at his mid-section. Somersaulting in the air he flicked Brisingr out as he passed over the Ra'zac and the blade caught it in the back its skull.

The impact of the sword altered Eragon's rotation more than he had imagined, and he stumbled as he landed off balance. The move had caught his enemy by surprise, but it had also turned his back to the remaining Ra'zac. Gathering himself quickly he spun around with his shield raised where he expected the next blow to be coming from.

His instincts served him well as his shield arm was jarred by the impact from the descending blade meant for his collarbone. Flicking Brisingr to the side he deflected another blow aimed at his leg, then back stepped and disengaged in order to assess the situation. Six of the Ra'zac were left, four of them were approaching him while the other two stood back and deftly strung bows. Grim determination gripped Eragon when he realized what he had done; he had stopped both blades on his own. His wards had done nothing. The weapons were enchanted somehow, and judging from Arya's arrow wounds, he would have to be careful to avoid those as well.

Any kind of bold move would leave him vulnerable to the Ra'zac with the bows, but that's what it would take to dispatch this many skilled opponents. Eragon could single-handedly dispatch untold numbers or regular soldiers, but the Ra'zac, while not as technically skilled as he or any other Elf, were roughly as fast.

_Are you ready Ebrithril?_

_Our strength is yours_. Came Glaedr's answer.

Eragon yelled once again "Thrysta Brisingr!" Channeling the energy from the Eldunari, the fireball that erupted from his shield hand was ten times the size of the one he cast earlier. The fire burst on the Ra'zacs wards in a blinding flash of light. Slipping the straps on his shield he hurled it towards the Ra'zac he had seen on the left of the approaching group just before the flash of light. He was rewarded with a muffled thump and gurgling sound that was barely audible over the roar of the flames.

Eragon had already known the fire would not harm the Ra'zac, but he counted on the flash of light to disorient them briefly. Having now discarded his shield he stepped quickly in the direction he had thrown it, and slashed out to his right as the flames began to ebb, he connected with the rim of a shield and his sword stuck. Instead of withdrawing the blade and striking again as would be expected, he lunged forwards to the side of the Ra'zac and slipped behind the shield delivering a ferocious elbow into the creature's temple. The blow was quick and brutal and with Eragon's enhanced strength he felt the hard exoskeleton crunch under the impact, and the Ra'zac slumped to the ground.

The fire was dying out and Eragon caught a flicker of movement to his left and jumped backwards as an arrow came hurtling at him. His reaction saved his life, but the arrow grazed his left arm between the shoulder-guard and gauntlet as it sped by leaving a deep gouge the width of his thumb across his bicep.

Another Ra'zac approached him and Eragon circled, trying to keep the enemy between him and the archer thirty yards away. As the Ra'zac lunged forward on the attack, instinct told Eragon that it was a rash move, and probably just a distraction. Instead of parrying the blow he ducked and pivoted and let the sword slash the air above his head. He was right, the other Ra'zac with a sword was attacking from behind, and still crouched he raised Brisingr to deflect the blow. He stopped the sword with his own and lashed out with his right foot, kicking the Ra'zac in the shin. Flicking his wrist and turning the Ra'zac's sword away he lunged up and out with Brisingr into the Ra'zac's chest and quickly turned him towards the archers. The creature shuddered as two arrows thumped into its back.

Eragon turned and thrust the dead Ra'zac towards the other with the sword, and followed up with a quick series of blows that the Ra'zac struggled to parry. Knowing he only had a short time before the archers reloaded he slashed at the Ra'zac's wrist, cutting deep into the creature's arm. With a howl the Ra'zac dropped the sword and lowered his shield slightly, and Eragon finished it with a cut to the nape of its neck.

He felt a flutter as an arrow passed by, centimeters from his neck and then an intense pain as the other found its mark in his thigh. Gritting his teeth he bent and retrieved the dead Ra'zac's shield and turned to present it to the archers. With the movement Eragon felt the arrow head tugging at his muscle and he moaned in agony. Reaching down with his sword hand he yanked the arrow out and cast a quick spell of healing to alleviate the pain for now. The Ra'zac fired two more arrows his way and he caught both in his shield.

Realizing their bows were next to useless now that he had regained a shield, the Ra'zac threw the bows aside and drew their swords and moved to approach Eragon. As they came Eragon feigned a stumble to his knee and let out a moan. The Ra'zac cackled as they moved in for an easy kill.

_Closer… Closer…_ Eragon thought.

_Now!_ He threw up his shield and launched himself behind it, driving it into the shield of the nearest Ra'zac. The impact took the Ra'zac by surprise and he tumbled backwards and landed in a flurry of limbs. The remaining Ra'zac took its opportunity and slashed down at Eragon, who lay struggling with the other. Rolling he moved his body out of the way and the blade came down into the Ra'zac instead. Releasing his grip Eragon continued his roll and popped up and turned to face his enemies. He lost his sword in the scuffle so he drew his long bladed hunting knife and stood half crouched facing the Ra'zac.

Accidently killing his own partner seemed to have no effect on the lone remaining Ra'zac and it pulled its sword free and turned to face Eragon.

Eragon spoke his challenge in the ancient language once again. "Come, O Thou eater of men's flesh, let us end this fight of ours."

The Ra'zac approached and discarded its shield and held the sword in both hands. It spoke in its hissing voice. "Our fight will never end Ssssshadesssslayer… There are more of usss than you have ever thought… we will hunt you and all the riderssss until the end of eternity…"

The Ra'zac lunged sweeping the blade down towards Eragon to cleave him in two. Eragon sidestepped the blow easily and the blade descended into the ground. He stepped on the blade and thrust upwards with the hunting knife, right into the abdomen of the Ra'zac. Pulling the blade free he stepped behind the Ra'zac and careful to avoid the sharp beak he put the knife to its throat and whispered…

"Good Luck."

Then he dragged the knife across the Ra'zac's throat and thrust the carcass to the ground.

**Don't forget to drop that review for a sneak peak at next week's chapter!**

**Also, for all you crazy ExA fans out there, don't worry I am too. We will get there; just hang with me! I refuse to make the mistake that I see in so many fanfics of just mashing the two together, because that's not how it would go! Eragon is heartbroken and is finally learning to accept his fate, and Arya is… well extremely complicated. See you next week!**


	7. Carvahall

**Well here we are again! Week 7 already! Thanks again to my Beta, MidnightRain6593 for her work on this chapter.**

**I apologize that this is later in the day than normal for me, but school started up again this week and it's been one heck a start! Bear with me, I will keep posting on Friday's as promised!**

**Special thanks to all my reviewers, you guys are awesome. You make writing worthwhile. This chapter is a little slower than the previous couple, but it had to slow down at some point! Be sure to drop a review for a sneak peak at next week's chapter!**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 7: Carvahall**

When Roran returned to Carvahall he found that the two main entrance gates had been closed off, and the watch towers that surrounded the town and meshed with the wooden palisade were manned with more than just the normal two look outs each. His guard now contained three of the men from the building crew to replace those that had been lost in the attack. As his small party approached the Northern Gate, he was met with a challenge.

"Who goes there? State your name and business!" Then a scuffle and a barely audible, "That's the Earl, you fool!" Two more figures appeared on the wall to the left of the gate, Lang and the commanding officer, a man named Rook.

"Forgive me, Earl Stronghammer. The men are a bit on edge lately," Rook informed him.

"It's good to see the men doing their job!" Roran called back heartily, "But if it's all the same to you, we'd like to get a hot meal before my beard turns white!"

The gates swung open at a word from Lang and Roran's small party trotted through them. Despite the attempt at humor, Roran was in a dark mood. The loss of Mandel and the obvious tension in the town, coupled with the fact that he still didn't know if Katrina was okay made him surly and dangerous. But he had to keep his cool in front of the men, he had to let them know or think that he was unflappable, especially in times like these.

Lang approached his mount and held the reigns while Roran dismounted, Horst coming alongside him and doing the same for Baldor. He could hear Rook off, bellowing orders to the men on watch to return to their stations. Lang began to speak, but Roran held up a hand and asked, "Where is Katrina?"

It was Horst who answered the question, "She's safe Roran. She and the children have been spending the nights at our house. Elaine is glad for the company. And Ismira and Hope are nearly inseparable at that."

Roran's mood improved and his heart lightened at hearing that Katrina was safe. He had been worried sick on the ride home, remembering how he'd lost her once before. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and his children in his arms, but that would have to wait; he had other matters to deal with.

"Thank you, Horst. You've always been too kind."

Horst nodded is assent and turned look to over Baldor as Lang began to speak again.

"My Lord, as you can see, we've had some trouble since you left last week. Our patrols began seeing groups of Urgals roaming about, not large mind you, but much closer to the town than we've ever seen them before. We doubled the watch, enforced a curfew and began sending out larger patrols and armed guards with the farmers and loggers. None of the Urgals attacked at first, but two days ago one of our patrols ran into a fairly large group of them, close to a hundred strong, not four miles from out walls. The patrol got away safely, but since then we've sent out a few larger forces in hopes of finding the Urgals and driving them off."

Lang looked tired and worn, but he still spoke with the same edge in his voice that hinted at his confidence and power. Lang was a few years younger than Roran, but his prowess in magic and quick wit made him one of Roran's most trusted advisors.

"The thing is that none of our sections ran into any Urgals whatsoever, let alone the raiding party we were hoping to find. Since then we've kept the watch doubled and gates secured, but I don't think a force that size would dare attack us here," Lang finished with a sense of confidence that he had not begun with, almost like he convinced himself of their safety.

Roran scratched his beard and thought over the situation and how it could be related to the attempt on his life at the keep. "Baldor, would you fill them in on what happened to us?" Roran asked his friend.

As Baldor related their tale, Roran paced and mulled the situation over in his head. _The large party of Urgals could easily just be a raiding party, as Lang said. But the increasing number of encounters, coupled with the attack at the keep… there has to be more to this than we think…_

_Scouts,_he thought, _that's what the patrols kept running into._ _Urgal scouts; they were scouting the land leading up to Carvhall and quite possibly the town itself. But why? Urgals are notorious for their lack of strategy and bloodlust that causes them to attack anything and everything at the slightest provocation… they never band together outside their tribes and they would never spend so much time scouting an area before attacking… unless they're told to._The conclusion came to him, unbidden, that was the answer. _Urgals impervious to pain, Urgal scouts and a raiding party that hadn't raided anything yet? It's obvious, someone or something is controlling or directing the Urgals._

Roran shuddered as he remembered what Eragon had told him about the Shade, Durza, that had controlled all of the Urgals and forced them to fight together. The thought of a shade in the Spine sent chills down his back. He emerged from his reverie as Baldor was telling of Mandel's death. Horst looked at his feet and shook his head.

Mandel had been a young eager man who had followed Roran with a desire similar to that of his own. Roran blamed himself for allowing him to be a part of his guard, but he was a loyal friend and a good fighter, too good for Roran to turn him down for the position.

"Tomorrow I will call a meeting of the village elders and my officers," Roran told the small group. "There is much to discuss and plans need to be made. Until then, everyone get some sleep; I have a feeling it will be in short supply soon…"

With that Roran began walking to Horst's house, eager to see his wife and child despite the ill thoughts that plagued his consciousness.

He arrived at the smith's house and before he could knock on the door, it was flung open and Katrina hugged him fiercely, whispering in his ear, "I missed you…"

"I missed you too," he whispered, kissing her neck. He decided that for now, Katrina did not have to know about the attempt on his life. He felt that he could stay here forever, but he felt a tugging at his trousers and looked down to see Ismira, her copper hair framing her huge smile as she looked up at him.

"Daddy!" She squealed. Roran bent down and scooped her up in his arms and twirled her through the air as she squealed with delight.

"And how is my favorite daughter?" Roran asked her as he put her on his hip and walked into the house. Elain was sitting in the living room by the fireplace knitting, and she gave him a glowering stare and put her finger to her lips. Sheepishly Roran mouthed, "Sorry!"

"I just put Gerron down and Hope has been sleeping for awhile now. This one," she strokes Ismira's hair, "Insisted on waiting up until you got home and I didn't want her to keep Hope awake, so she's been here with me."

"Well," Roran said turning to look at Ismira, "I think we could all use some sleep about now."

Ismira nodded sleepily, already succumbing to the late hour as the excitement of his return faded. He smiled and carefully walked her into Hope's room and placed her on the large bed beside Hope. Pulling the covers up to her chin, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

When he returned to the large living room, Elain had retired and Horst, Albriech, Baldor, and Katrina sat near the fire waiting for Roran. With a few quick and loving words, Roran convinced Katrina that she had done everything she could and that he needed speak with Horst and his sons before going to bed. After she extracted a promise from him (to his dismay, in front of the others) to wake her when he came to bed, she retired into the guest room, too tired to make the trip across the town to their own estate.

The four of them talked until the wee hours of the morning before each retiring to their own respective rooms, and Roran going to join Katrina in the guest room that Elain had so willingly given Katrina whenever he was gone. He felt confident in the decision he had made while conversing with Horst and his sons and he would share it with his subjects tomorrow.

He climbed into bed with Katrina and leaned over and kissed her on the neck, whispering, "I love you." She smiled and turned towards him, murmuring something incoherent. Roran grinned to himself; now she could not complain that he didn't wake her.

At noon the next day, the elders of the village, as well as all of his officers and closest friends, gathered in the great hall at Roran's estate. The room was large and the group occupied only the high table that was positioned at the far end of the room. When the group was gathered, Roran approached the table and cleared his throat. Silence fell immediately and he was temporarily taken aback by the amount of respect that he had gained in the previous years and men that he had once held in high regard now turned to him when a decision was to be made.

With another quick glance around the table, Roran began to speak.

"Watches will be doubled at all times from now until further notice. A standing company of 200 armed men will stand to in addition to the watches. Messages are already on their way via horseback to Therinsford and Garrowton to warn them of impending attacks. In addition I've sent a messenger to Queen Nasuada with a request for a battalion of reinforcements."

An outburst of disapproval rang forth from the officers and veterans at this statement. Roran knew they were insulted at the request for reinforcements, but he'd rather hurt than pride than have them all killed if there really was a shade on the loose…

He saw a questioning look in Horsts eyes, anxious to see whether Roran would reveal what he really thought; for Roran had confided his fears with the smith and his sons the night before. Roran shook his head slowly, it was not the men he needed it was the magicians. He pulled his hammer from his belt and with a resounding WHAM! He struck the huge table they had gathered at and silence fell throughout the room.

"I'll thank you to not question my authority again." He said, menace creeping into his voice. Roran had a hard won reputation for savagery on the battlefield, but he was normally calm and level-headed in dealing with his subjects. His sudden outburst had the desired effect on the crowd, and he continued speaking.

"Until such time as it is deemed safe for us to venture out from out walls, no man outside of an armed party will leave the village. Armed escorts will be provided for those who must tend their fields. All livestock will be brought into the village in case of a curfew is now in effect as well, no one is to be outside past dark." Roran stated matter-of-factly, he noted a few grumblings of discontent but for the most part he saw acceptance.

"Galbatorix has fallen, but we all knew that peace would take time. In that time we will defend ourselves and our loved ones from any threat that presents itself. We as a people, as a village, have uprooted ourselves once, but no one will take our home from us again! This I promise you."

When he finished a great cheer erupted from those gathered at the table and the men pounded their fists in acknowledgement of his words.

Satisfied, he grinned as the cheering finally died down.

"You're dismissed. See to your duties at once." He commanded, and there was a chorus of scraping as chairs slide back and men and women rose to go about their various tasks.

Turning to Lang he said, "Will you contact Nasuada directly? I would like her to know as soon as possible."

"Of course, My Lord."

The chatter that had broken out following Roran's dismissal was interrupted by a long blast followed by two quick ones from one of the horns in the surrounding towers. Everyone in the meeting froze, aware of what the signal meant.

Urgals!

**Be sure to drop a review for a sneak peak at next week'****s chapt****er!**


	8. A Royal Summons

**And we're back! A week later, still going strong! Thanks to my awesome Beta for getting this edited even through her crazy week.**

**And here we have it, the first (but not the last) real ExA scene we'll have in this continuation! Let me know how I did eh? Drop that Review for sneak peak at next week's chapter!**

**Alas school has me extremely busy, and I have failed to write much these past two weeks. But lucky for all you I've got a few chapters done and waiting around. If and when life catches up and I can't continue posting every single week, I hope you all will stay with me as this story will be finished, I promise.**

**Without further ado, Chapter 8. Read and Review!**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 8: A Royal Summons**

Eragon stirred from his waking dreams just as the sun cast its first rays of light over the horizon, peeking through the trees and tree buildings that made up the small elven outpost of Ceris. It had been two days since he fought and defeated the Ra'zac and Saphira had returned for him after getting Arya and Tuor to Ceris. Fearing that the arrows he had taken during the fight could easily contain the same poison that had so effectively incapacitated Arya, he began to run for Ceris at a very quick pace that he could only maintain for a few hours at most had he not had the Eldunari to help him. After several hours of running, night had begun to fall and he feared that despite his efforts the distance was too great. It was only a matter of time before the poison started taking its toll on his body and, Eldunari or not, he wouldn't be able to continue then.

Casting a spell that produced a blue werelight that stayed in a spot several yards above and in front of his head, he had continued pressing on through the night. Late into the night, he began to feel the poison tugging at the edges of his consciousness. After fighting to stay on his feet for a few more miles, he stumbled and fell, scraping his hands and face on the dirt road. Lying there in the dirt, he had been ready to accept death, its warm embrace so close and comforting…

Next thing he knew, he had been flying. He woke to see an expanse of trees below him as Saphira glided down into the safety of Du Weldenvarden. That's all he could remember.

Angela had told him that the poison would have no lasting effects, and in fact it appeared to have very little effect on him compared to Arya. Arya had been exposed for longer and for some reason seemed to be less resistant to the poison. Eragon had long since learned not to press Angela for answers and had settled with the knowledge that Arya would live and most likely not suffer any lasting damage.

"Eragon, if she had been more than ten minutes later… she would have died as sure as a frog hops," Angela had said in the gravest tone he'd ever heard from her.

"But it seems you're lucky once again Shadeslayer!" She had chimed.

_How are you feeling little one?_ Came Saphira's question. Eragon glimpsed an image of her gliding high above the trees, and he thought he saw a flash of green scales as she turned and dove downwards.

_Better,_ he said, _I take it Firnen has returned then?_

_He has._ Eragon could feel her happiness flowing through their bond. _He says to thank you for saving his rider._

_Have you heard anything else about Arya?_

_She has…_

"Shadeslayer!" A young elf approached him; he was tall and lean like most elves and his raven hair and sharp features looked very much like Vanir, to a point that Eragon was slightly taken aback. The elf approached and following the traditional greeting, he spoke first, deferring to Eragon. Following the formalities the elf said, "Queen Arya has awoken and she has demanded your presence."

"Demanded, eh?" Eragon asked the elf, who appeared shocked at his response. Remembering the extreme courtesy of the elves, he quickly recovered: "Inform the queen I would be honored to attend her," he said with a gracious if overly exaggerated bow,

"Y…Yes Ebrithil." The elf turned and strode off with long graceful strides towards the cluster of buildings that made up the outpost of Ceris.

_If you're alive after you speak with Arya… you and I must talk about your decision as well..._ Saphira informed him with a hint of a mocking tone.

_Of course Saphira, I would expect nothing less from you,_ He responded.

Taking a deep breath, he began walking in the same direction that the young elf, whose name he had already forgotten, had taken just moments earlier. While he walked, he tried to decipher in his head the reasons for doing what he had done and felt confident that he had made the right choice at the time, especially knowing what Angela had told him about Arya arriving in the nick of time. But all of his planning was forgotten the moment he entered the infirmary ward where Arya was being treated and he saw the cold and detached look in her eyes as she turned to face him.

Wary of the few other elves also in the room, Eragon initiated the traditional elvish greeting, showing his respect for their Queen. And although she returned the greeting, Eragon could feel the edge in her voice. With a few quick words to the elf that attended her, the others began to clear the room and Eragon stood a few feet from the edge of the cot, staring at his feet.

Before the room had completely cleared Arya spoke. "I should thank you, Shadeslayer, and Saphira for saving my life. I've been told I am very lucky to be here right now," she said her tone crisp.

The room cleared and she continued, the edge creeping back into her voice although she kept it low. "That being said… I should like to speak to you openly," she said, nodding towards the door.

Eragon nodded and taking three long strides he pulled the door shut and muttering a few words in the ancient language, cast a spell that would prevent eavesdropping. Turning back to face Arya he said, "It's done."

Instead of relaxing like he'd hoped, she looked angrier than ever...

"What the hell were you thinking Eragon?! You treated me like a child! Forced my own captain to disobey my order, manhandled me onto your dragon, and stayed behind on a fool's errand! For what?! To prove yourself?!"

Eragon stood silent, his jaw set as he held her gaze unwavering as she berated him. He had never seen her so emotional, he thought idly, as she continued her rant. Her mother's death must have affected her more than he had imagined.

"…well?! Answer me Shadeslayer!" She finished, spitting out the last word like she couldn't bear the taste of it.

He saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye as he spoke, "Are you done?" The anger flashed back across her face but she didn't say anything, just continued to glower at him, seething.

"You ask me to explain myself," he began calmly, "So I will."

"You were poisoned. Neither I nor Tuor knew with what, so there was nothing we could do for you. Tuor knew that Angela was here in Ceris and that she could most likely help you. You passed out numerous times and were in no condition to fight." At this she moved as if to protest, but Eragon held up a hand and continued. "Saphira could have flown much faster with just you in the saddle, but we believed there was a group of Urgals nearby and she needed a conscious spellcaster with her, thus Tuor. In addition, I did not want to waste the opportunity to destroy the Ra'zac that were pursuing you and allow them to escape and continue wreaking havoc on the peoples of Alagaesia. I had numerous Eldunari with me and believed that I would be able to overcome them easily enough. I admit, they were more of a match than I imagined and I underestimated them, but I stand by my decision. Angela told me you made it here just in time, not ten minutes too early. Otherwise…" His voice trailed off and he looked down as his throat tightened imagining the possibility. He spoke in the ancient language, so he spoke the truth, but that did not stop him from omitting the biggest reason for doing what he did…

Eragon risked a glance up and saw that her expression had softened considerably, but she still looked rather fierce to be sitting in an infirmary ward. When she spoke it was not angry, but Eragon imagined it was the way she spoke to high ranking officials, political almost.

"We've received word from Farthen Dur, the dwarven rider, Baruk and his dragon Argenten were slain two days after I left. Which would have been the same day the Ra'zac attacked my party…" Arya's voice trailed off as she struggled to maintain her neutral tone.

The news stunned Eragon. He had almost forgotten about the new Rider, but this was inconceivable. After all these years when it finally looked as if the Riders were on the rise, such a tragedy would occur. Eragon quailed at the thought that this unknown enemy had almost succeeded in halving their numbers with a single well-timed blow.

Arya continued to speak, telling him of the dead dwarves found in the chamber along with Baruk and Argenten. The young pair had killed five of their attackers before being overwhelmed. Even before she mentioned the brand on the inside left forearm of each of the dead attackers, Eragon had already guessed who was behind it. It was no mystery, but this would mean a clan war. Az Sweldn rak Anhuin had made their position on the Riders abundantly clear four years ago when they had attempted to kill him during his brief stay in Farthen Dur during the succession meetings in which Orik was crowned. He silently cursed Orik for not being more cautious with the new rider and himself for not taking more precautions against such an event. Still, such an attack would provoke an all-out clan war, and Az Sweldn rak Anhuin did not have the warriors to commit to a war… _Unless they've somehow gained a few allies…_he thought. The situation unsettled him, but he would have to trust Orik to hold his own until he had dealt with whatever threat Roran faced. He said none of this out loud, but nodded as Arya talked, still trying to assess the situation, when she changed the subject he was obliged to respond. Though, the recent news had set him on edge more than he should have let it.

"Tuor has offered to resign his position for disobeying a direct order," she said, making eye contact.

"And you would be a fool to accept it," he responded flatly. "Tuor did exactly what his position and duty required him to do; he protected his queen." Eragon looked down, aware of the condescending tone he had allowed to creep into his voice.

"I realize that Eragon," she said, the edge creeping back into her voice as she spoke. "And I do not appreciate being called a fool."

Eragon stiffened. She was not yelling, but her dangerous tone told him he must be careful. He had angered her enough already and although he would endure her hatred forever if it meant saving her life, he did not wish to push her further.

"I'm sorry, Ar…Your Majesty. I did not mean to speak so harshly. I only wished that Tuor not be punished for a decision I made," he spoke carefully now, looking at his feet and hoping to extract himself from the situation without damaging her opinion of him further. "I realize that you are angry with me, Arya," he said sincerely and looked up. "But I made my choice and I hope that someday you will be able to see why…"

Arya looked confused, but then her eyes widened as she grasped what he meant. But Eragon didn't wait, he couldn't. He wouldn't go through this again, not when he had tried so hard these last three years to accept and understand what had happened between them, what she had done to him.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Eragon said, trying desperately to sound formal, while his heart ached. "But I came here because I believed Roran to be in danger. I will leave now and depart for Ilirea and inform Nasuada of the situation here and the Ra'zac attack. Then I will travel to Carvahall with all speed," he said with finality.

He bowed, muttering, "Your Majesty." And turned quickly on his heel and strode from the room. He heard Arya say something, calling after him as he exited the infirmary ward, but he didn't stop, couldn't bring himself to stop. He would do what he came here to do and go back to Du Flauga Fells where he belonged, where Arya and this heartache could not follow.

**Be sure to drop that review for sneak peak at next week's chapter! And hang in there all you ExA fans. We all know that there is way too much tension between these two and as I've said before I will not make the mistake of rushing this development. It's one of the best subplots and a little tension just makes the actual thing even better! Unlike Paolini however; I promise I will deliver!**


	9. War in the Beors

**A/N: We're back, week 9 chapter 9! Hard to believe it's been over two months since we started this adventure, and a big shout out to my Beta MidnightRain6593 for all her help and support through these 9 chapters.**

**So I realize it may be hard to compete with the ExA drama we had in the last chapter, and the crazy action that went down for most of the chapters before that, but we do get a new POV here, one that I wish CP would have included more of in the originals.**

**Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter; they really help me to know what is ****working and what I need to change. So be sure to drop that review for a sneak peak at next week's chapter! (I don't know how long I can keep that up, but I do have one for this week.) Anyway Read and Review!**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 9: War in the Beors**

Orik tugged on his long beard as he spoke into the mirror which depicted Nasuada, queen of the empire.

"Aye, it's a right terrible thing what happened to young Baruk, but Az Sweldn rak Anhuin did not act alone in this. No, they didn't," He said matter-of-factly, his expression tired as he addressed the queen. "Not an hour after the assassination, Grimsborith Nado marched into Tronjheim with five thousand warriors at his back to "keep the peace". Aye, keep the peace, my arse. My men I had left in charge were imprisoned and Nado's warriors have sealed the gates and locked the city down," Orik finished with desperation.

"This is grim news indeed King Orik," Nasuada said. "But I trust you can handle things? It's not as if you have a full tilt rebellion on your hands, correct? Most of the clans are still loyal to the crown, I would hope?"

"Yes, yes. But I've yet to hear from Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn, and their silence troubles me…" Orik replied.

"Be that as it may, I cannot afford to send troops to the Beors as well as to Palcanar Valley. I've just received a message from Earl Stronghammer that a war band of Urgals has been spotted roaming through the Valley. It comes as no surprise that this would happen, but the timing is… inconvenient."

"If you should require assistance, my advice is that you contact King Orrin in Surda, but I suggest you handle things on your own. Orrin can be quite… fickle when it comes to committing troops or doing anything too strenuous…" Nasuada finished.

"Aye, I will handle it. Even with five thousand warriors, Nado cannot hope to hold all of Tronjheim against mine own forces, but he would be a fool to try and fight. Me thinks as soon as we reach the city, he will yield and make some blasted excuse and try to talk his way out it," Orik stated confidently.

"Good. I'll leave you to it then. Good luck, King Orik, please keep me updated," Nasuada said as the mirror clouded over and then returned to its regular reflective state.

Orik stared at his reflection for a moment, noticing that the braids in his beard were coming loose and the bags under his eyes that were the result of many a sleepless night. He allowed himself a brief respite from the continuous responsibilities of running a kingdom, and possibly a war, before he turned and called out.

"Baldal! What are the most recent strength returns?!"

Orik's personal assistant, a young dwarf by the name of Baldal, scurried up to him and spoke in his surprisingly deep voice, "The battalions from Durgrimst Fanghur and Durgrimst Vrenshrrgnn have finally arrived, and with our own forces it puts our total strength at roughly fifteen thousand warriors. Once we meet up with the warriors from Durgrimst Ledwonnu and Durgrimst Nagra, our numbers should be somewhere north of twenty-two thousand. It's nowhere near our total strength, but more than enough to remind Grimstborith Nado of his place."

"Aye, that it is," Orik muttered. "How many warriors are available to protect Bregan Hold during our absence?"

"Right now the garrison stands at one thousand five hundred warriors," Baldal responded after scanning a waxed tablet he held.

"Double it. I'll not have Bregan Hold exposed when we march off this fool of an errand," Orik grumbled. Thinking of leaving Hvedra alone here in Bregan Hold wasn't something that appealed to him. "Have the warriors from Durgrimst Fanghur and Durgrimst Vrenshrrgnn fed and housed for the night; we march on the morrow for Tronjheim."

"Yes, sir," Baldal responded, as he scurried off to attend to the details.

Orik sighed and stroked his beard as he turned and began walking towards the main hall where the warriors from Durgrimst Fanghur and Durgrimst Vrenshrrgnn, as well as his own warriors would be feasting soon enough. He had already eaten and would address the men on the morrow when they began the march to Tronjheim, so instead he ducked around the large hall into a medium sized house that he shared with his wife, Hvedra, and their newborn son, Balik.

The birth of his son had been one of the happiest days of his life; the young boy came into the world, red-faced and squalling, as healthy as could be. He thanked Helzvog each day for giving him such a healthy young son and his heir. A feast had been held in his honor that lasted for a whole week, celebrating his birth. Orik knew that by Dwarvish law his son would not inherit the throne from him unless he was chosen as a worthy successor by the other Grimsborith, much the same way that Orik had been chosen. However, by naming him his heir he greatly increased his chances of being chosen as the next king and if Orik's reign was prosperous, there would be no reason to dispute his son's claim.

He nodded to the two guards at the entrance, and entered the house and stamped his boots off on the thick woolen rug before sitting on the rough wooden stool that sat inside the entryway to take off his boots. Hvedra would not be home yet he knew. As the Grimstcarvlorss of the Ingeitum, she had many responsibilities herself and she would probably be overseeing the making of rations for Orik and his warriors who would march tomorrow.

He walked through the living room and noticed that Kali, their housemaid, had stoked the fire and the room was warm and comfortable compared to the chill night air outside that accompanied the sunset here in the Beors.

He continued through the living room into the nursery to find Kali sitting in the rocking chair beside the crib where Balik laid asleep, thumb stuck squarely in his mouth as he slumbered peacefully. He had been told that children would keep him awake, that they would make his life even more hectic, but Balik hardly ever made a sound. He was a content a baby as any father could hope for and hardy, to boot. Orik smiled down at the child before turning and gesturing to Kali that she could leave. He followed her out the door, keeping it open incase Balik woke.

After ushering Kali out the door and bidding her goodnight, he settled down into the big armchair in the living room. He decided to wait until Hvedra came home and then he would move to the large bed in the other room. But the chair was unusually comfortable tonight and when he propped his feet up on the foot stool, he had to fight to stay awake.

He must have lost the fight because the next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake by Hvedra, who spoke softly saying: "Orik, Baldal is outside. He says that the warriors will be ready to march in an hour's time."

He awoke easily enough, surprised that his own internal clock had not woken him sooner. He had never had a problem with rising early, something he still carried with him from the strict upbringing enforced by Hrothgar. He rose and surprised Hvedra by sweeping her up into a big bear hug, lifting her off the ground. Setting her down, he whispered, "Stay safe, my love." They rubbed noses and he turned strode into the bedroom and changed into his marching gear as quickly as possible.

Exiting the room, he noticed that Hvedra was already gone and that Kali had arrived in order to watch Balik while Orik was gone and Hvedra was out seeing to other things. Kali bowed slightly to him as he walked past and he nodded a thank you before he left out the front door. The two guards stiffened as he exited the house and Baldal stood waiting for him a few yards away from the door.

Baldal bowed slightly before he addressed him. "My King, the warriors are receiving their marching rations now; they will be ready to march within the hour."

"Good, I'd like to address them before we move out. But first I'd like to speak to Krongur. Find him; I'll be in the kitchens."

"My King," Baldal said, bowing as he scurried off to find the dwarf Orik wanted to speak to.

Krongur was an old Dwarf and a long-time friend of his foster father, Hrothgar. He was a veteran of many wars and as hard a dwarf as could be found in the Beors. It was him that Orik was leaving in charge of the garrison at Bregan Hold. Krongur may have been a hard nut, but he was old and Orik saw no reason in making him march the thirty-seven miles to Tronjheim for a staring contest. So instead, he'd given him command of the garrison, a position that Krongur was obliged to accept, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. Although it was likely that neither party would have a battle on their hands, Krongur didn't like being left out of the marching army as they had the better opportunity for a fight.

He moved through the kitchens and accepted a loaf of warm sourdough bread from one of the cooks and he tore off chunks and ate it gratefully as he walked amongst the dwarves in the large outdoor dining hall that was used for various celebrations and feasts. He stopped here and there, laughing at their jokes and joining in their banter. As their king, they respected him, but as a fellow warrior, they included him. It was something that Orik had learned over his years as King, to be involved with his men was good, as long as when the time came he asserted his authority and they followed. It had worked well so far and he enjoyed the camaraderie that was otherwise lost with his new position.

He was speaking with a group of warriors from Durgrimst Vrenshrrgnn when Baldal approached and touched him on the elbow, informing him that he had returned with Krongur. Orik bid the men farewell and turned to follow Baldal out of the dining area to where Krongur waited.

Krongur bowed his head slightly as Orik approached him.

"Captain Krongur, my old friend!" Orik said and the two clasped forearms in greeting.

"My king," Krongur replied.

"I'm doubling your garrison for the duration of our trip to Tronjheim," Orik informed him. "I've yet to hear from Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn and if for some reason they've decided to throw in with Grimsborith Nado, then I don't want Bregan Hold exposed when we march. With three thousand warriors, you could hold Bregan Hold against three times that number. Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn are great warriors, but I do not believe they are fools. If they should attack, they will be expecting a typical garrison size and they will be sorely mistaken," Orik finished.

"Aye, that will do nicely," Krongur replied.

"Good! Then may Gûntera watch over you, brother," Orik said, clasping his arm once more.

"And you, my king."

Orik turned and strode off towards the marching grounds, where his host would be assembling any moment. Baldal hurried to catch up, asking Orik, "Do you really think that Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn would attack?"

"I don't know, Baldal, but they backed Nado fervently during the clanmeet, so it's possible they would aide him if this is indeed an attempt at an overthrow. I don't want to take any chances. By leaving three thousand warriors in the garrison here, all the might of Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn combined could not breach our defenses. A few of our best spellcasters will be amongst the garrison, as well. Grimsborith Nado cannot hold Tronjheim and he cannot hope to take Bregan Hold." Orik smiled at the statement.

He had out thought Nado at every turn and it was entirely possible there wouldn't even be a war.

**Thanks for reading! Be sure to drop that review for a sneak peak at next week's chapter! (You do need an account for me to reply to your review!)**


	10. Revelation

**A/N: Well here it is, a week later as promised. If there are a few punctuation or grammar mistakes I apologize. A little shorter than the previous few but here nonetheless, we get Roran's POV again this time.**

**Make sure to drop a review to get a sneak peak at next week's chapter! Thanks to everyone who has been following and reviewing so far, you guys make this awesome! Let me know how I did eh? Little hint here that we might be seeing Murtagh soon!**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 10: Revelation**

Roran sprinted through the gateway to his estate and out into the village. The village was in utter chaos, villagers were screaming and running through the streets trying to get behind the stone walls of the estate. This told Roran that somehow the urgals had made it over the wall, but how they managed that before being seen was still a mystery.

"My Lord! The east wall! The urgals got over it somehow!" A watchman came running through the throng of civilians.

He turned to Baldor: "Get all the women and children inside the estate!"

Turning to Lang and the other officers that had been present during the meeting he said: "The rest of you come with me! Gather as many men as you can along the way!"

He took off sprinting towards eastern portion of the palisade, hoping to cut the urgals off before they could advance much further into the town. Already he could hear the clamor of battle as the men of the watch engaged the urgal party.

As they ran they collected more and more soldiers who were responding to the alarm, and their party grew to almost ninety men before they arrive at the wall. Nearly a hundred urgal rams had climbed over the palisade and were now standing back to back against the wall as a thin line of watchmen hemmed them in with long spears. When the urgals saw Roran and his party of men charging down towards the melee they made their move.

A large Kull, easily eight and a half feet tall, in the front of the party roared a ferocious war cry that would have curdled any normal man's blood. The Kull charged forward towards the center of the line of soldiers that hemmed them in, sweeping aside the spears with his massive war club he rammed home into one of the soldiers, caving in the man's breastplate with his shoulder. Another solider turned and stuck his spear into the Kull's calf only to be swept off his feet with the impact from the Kull's club.

The huge Kull bellowed in rage and pain but he did not stop, the other urgals roared their own war cries and charged after him, making for the gap in the middle of the line. Drawing his hammer Roran did not slow down, but launched himself feet first at the massive Kull and collided with its midsection with an explosive grunt.

At six feet three inches Roran was an imposing figure to many men, and his hard life of farming and fighting had packed an enormous amount of muscle onto his frame. The impact bent the urgal over and sent him stumbling backwards gasping for breath. Roran landed hard himself, hitting his head against the hard packed earth. Dazed he could vaguely hear and see the men that had followed him collide with the rest of the urgals, sweeping around him like a flood.

He struggled to stand, his head still swimming from the impact. He got to one knee and had to stop, putting his hand to his head he tried desperately to shake off the dizziness that assailed him. He was glad to notice that somehow he had maintained his grip on his hammer.

He glanced up and saw huge ugly feet shuffling towards him, and immediately he sprang forward from his position and rolled underneath the huge Kull, who had somehow recovered first. He was just in time as he felt the rush of wind and the jarring thud of the ground that told him he had missed being brained by mere seconds. Turning on the ground he lashed out with his hammer at the Kull's uninjured leg and connected with the ankle. Roran felt bones shatter as the hammer struck home and the Kull howled in pain and dropped to ground, unable to stand on two wounded legs. Roran sprang to his feet and fighting off the nausea that he felt he quickly moved over and dispatched the Kull with two quick strokes of his hammer.

He straightened and turned to see the battle raging around him. His men had arrived in a ragtag fashion and a number of duels and small battles had broken out after the original clash between the two forces. There was no order and no plan to the attack, it was an all out brawl.

Roran cursed himself for allowing this to happen, he had been so determined to not let the urgals break through into the village that he had sacrificed order for speed. He pivoted quickly and dodged a massive swipe from an urgals war axe, turning he flicked his hammer out and caught the urgal on the upper arm, shattering the bone. The urgal grunted and dropped the axe and Roran finished him with a swift uppercut from the reverse side of his hammer.

He surveyed the field and saw that more and more of his men were arriving every second, and soon the urgals were greatly outnumbered. A group of 30 or so banded together and backed up against the wall as the rest of them were cut down or overwhelmed by the soldiers who continued to arrive on the scene.

His men encircled the remaining group of urgals who stood defiantly facing their last moments, waving their weapons back and forth they issued threats and challenges to the men in their own harsh language. Roran's men began advancing towards the cornered urgals, but he stopped them.

"Halt! Lang to me." He commanded.

Lang came scurrying over from the middle of the mass of soldiers that occupied the immediate area.

"Break one of them. I want to know how they got in here!" Roran commanded, a bit angrier than he should have been.

"Yes my lord." The tall lanky youth closed his eyes and screwed up his face in concentration and Roran glanced at the group of urgals and saw one of them drop his weapon and fall to his knees, hands to his head as he rocked back and forth. The remaining urgals, sensing some sort of attack immediately charged into the men that had encircled them. They were cut down with ease, but not before they took a few more of his men with them, and injuring a couple more.

The lone urgal remained on the ground writhing in pain as Lang dug deeper and deeper into its mind, searching for the answers that he needed. Roran felt a moment of pity for what the urgal was enduring, but it passed quickly. Finally the urgal shuddered, than convulsed and finally stopped moving all together. Lang straightened and opened his eyes, his face looked pale and tired.

"I… I could not find exactly how they managed to escape our notice, but I think I figured it out. I saw that the urgal had been placed under some type of spell, and the fear that I felt from him was understandable. I think that someone or something place a spell on all of them, to make them nearly invisible. I don't quite understand how it works, it's very complicated, I don't know any magician capable of it." He shook his head in frustration. Then he began to walk away from the scene of the battle.

Roran understood and ordered that the urgals be disposed of, and the fallen soldiers buried after their loved one's had been notified. Then he hurried after Lang, anxious to hear what else he had to say.

Lang was waiting for him in a quiet alley between two houses in Carvahall, and when Roran approached they began walking towards the estate.

"Lang, what is it." Roran demanded

"The enchantment on the urgals, not only was it clever. It was powerful. It didn't just bend the light around them like most magicians would do in order to appear invisible. It was nearly perfect, that's why the urgal was so afraid. They couldn't see their own limbs or tell where they were putting their feet, it would be extremely disconcerting." He said

"I see." Roran said, trying hard to comprehend just what kind of enemy they were up against.

"That's what concerns me." Lang continued. "Neither I nor any other magician I've met would have been able to sustain such a powerful spell of concealment over so many people for so long."

"What are you saying?" Roran asked, not sure what Lang was getting at.

"I'm saying that the only magicians powerful enough for such a spell would be an elf, Eragon, or his brother."

_Eragon is thousands of leagues away; the thought of a rogue elf working with urgals is preposterous… but Murtagh? No one has seen him since the battle of Urubaen… Eragon vouched for him, but…_

He shook his head and asked: "So why were they not invisible to us?"

"Ah, well that was a bit of my own invention. When the palisade was being built, I imbued parts of it with a very complex and clever incantation, one that my father taught me before he died. It strips any type of magical concealment from someone who would attempt to break that barrier. Like if someone had magically altered their face to appear different, or had used some spell of invisibility. Since it's a very little known incantation, my guess is that whoever enchanted these urgals either had no reason to suspect it would be there, or they don't know about it. Either way, we were very lucky." He finished.

Roran was impressed, he did not have any type of magical training but he knew enough know that what Lang had done was extremely clever, very reminiscent of a magician he had befriended during his time with the Varden…

And then he had it, he knew why he had liked Lang so much when they first met, why he had chosen him over numerous other magicians that Nasuada had offered to send with him.

"Lang, who was your father?" He asked, already suspecting the answer to his own question.

Lang grinned… "His name was Carn."

**Be sure to drop that review for sneak peak at next week's chapter!**


	11. Acceptance

**A/N: Well that's week 11, one more than I originally promised. For those that missed the first A/N I promised 1 chapter a week for 10 weeks, so it's a bonus! I will continue to try and post every week as I did here but it may become a bit more spread out depending how busy my schedule gets. **

**As always thanks to my awesome Beta, MidnightRain6593 for correcting my numerous errors in this chapter. Thanks to everyone that's been following along on this epic journey, keep hanging in there and it'll be well worth your time. I promise. For those wondering, Murtagh WILL appear in the next chapter!**

**Again drop a review for a sneak peak at next week's chapter! (I'll try to get it to you before Thursday this time!)**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 11: Acceptance**

_Eragon… you must stop brooding over something that is already done._ Saphira's chiding interrupted his current chain of thought and he realized that his sour mood was affecting her more than he had meant it to.

It was the third morning since leaving the elven outpost of Ceris and they were headed across the Hadarac desert towards Ilirea. Saphira had eaten her fill in the forests of Du Weldenvarden and they thought they could make Ilirea in four days' time if she did not have to stop and hunt. Eragon had been using the same spell he used the first time they crossed the desert to draw water to the surface and in this way, they had made good time, flying in the morning and at night and sleeping during the blistering heat of the day. Saphira's internal sense of direction kept them on course, even during the blackest of nights.

The sun was just beginning to peak up over the horizon and it cast a magnificent orange glare across the sands below them.

_I'm sorry Saphira… I know you're right but I just don't understand her. I return after three years, save her life, and she treats me like this?!_His tone had shifted from apologetic to almost angry now.

_Arya does not understand how much you have grown, little one. Do you think I would have left you there by yourself if I did not believe you would actually defeat the Ra'zac? Even without the Eldunari, you are undoubtedly one of the strongest magicians in Alagaesia, and most certainly the best swordsman…_

_Thank you, Saphira, but I don't see why that matters…_ Eragon responded sullenly.

_Pshhh!_ A small jet of flame erupted from her nostrils. _Your ignorance is…hmm…amusing._

_Ignorance? What are you…?_

_It's obvious, isn't it? She wants to mate with you,_ Saphira said matter-of-factly._And she can't do so if you're dead._

_Saphira!_ Eragon protested. He was glad no one was around to hear her comment, or see the tips of his ears turning bright red.

_Sorry…_ she said, but Eragon could tell her apology was more for his sake than her own.

_But all you two-legs make things too complicated,_she complained.

Despite Eragon's indignation at her original comment, he couldn't help but laugh and he let his appreciation flow through their bond so that she knew he bore her no ill will before resuming the conversation in a more solemn tone.

_Arya has made her feelings for me perfectly clear, Saphira. She never felt anything for me and she never will. I've resigned myself to this, but so must you._

_I understand little one._

Eragon leaned forward and hugged her neck, comforted in the fact that he did have someone in this world that he could love and trust completely.

_There,_she said, sending Eragon an image of a small thicket of gorse trees not more than a mile ahead of their position. Craning his neck to see, he spotted the trees and Saphira began descending towards them.

When she landed, Eragon leaped from the saddle. Landing in a squat, he paused and took in their surroundings. The thicket could hardly be called that; it was a tiny clump of five gorse trees that would give off a minimal amount of shade during the heat of the day. However, the land around was clear and offered a great view of any approach. Nodding his satisfaction, he walked over to where Saphira was waiting impatiently for him. He removed the saddlebags containing his armor and food and then unbuckled the saddle and let it slide off to the ground.

Saphira wriggled with pleasure at being rid of the burden, walked over to the edge of the thicket and began digging a hole with her forepaw. In a matter of seconds, she had a large hole that was four feet wide and four feet deep and she turned and looked expectantly at Eragon who was still hauling the saddle to the shelter of the trees.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, just give me a second, alright?" He teased her. He made a show about dragging the saddle under the trees until Saphira shorted a jet a flame from one of her nostrils directly behind his heels. He yelped in surprise and hurried to put the saddle underneath one of the trees.

Saphira emitted a deep rumbling sound that Eragon had long since learned to be laughter.

Muttering to himself, he walked over to the hole that Saphira had dug and stood, composing himself. No matter how often he used this spell, the weight of the water always took him by surprise, especially if he had to draw it from deep in the earth.

_We will help you, Eragon. It's the least we can do for you and Saphira. Flying with you, it is the greatest gift you can give us,_ Glaedr said, there were words of affirmation from the other dragons as well.

_Thank you, Ebrithil._

Eragon felt the rush of energy as he opened up the connection to the Eldunari and spoke, "Adruna risa!"

He felt a tug on his strength as he located the water and began drawing it to the surface, but the energy from the Eldunari was more than enough for the task. The huge hole began to fill and Saphira dipped her snout into the hole and drank in huge quaffs. He struggled to keep up with her, searching deeper and wider for water to bring to the surface. After a few long minutes Saphira, stood and backed away from the hole. Still keeping ahold of the magic, he dipped his waterskin in and filled it, drained it himself and then refilled it. Finally he let go of the magic and water seeped back into the ground.

Thanks to the Eldunari he was not hit with the immediate fatigue that he normally felt after such a task. But a long day in the saddle, and his own sour attitude had drained him of his energy anyway. He walked over to where Saphira now lay, basking in the slowly rising sun. He put a hand on her neck and watched with her in silence as the sun emerged in its entirety from beyond the horizon, casting its glow across the desert around them.

"You should get some sleep," he said "We can make Ilirea tomorrow morning, I think."

_Mmmhmm_… Saphira responded, already losing the battle with fatigue and drifting slowly off to sleep.

Eragon smiled at her, proud of the effort that his partner had given the last few days. He had initially estimated it would take them five to six days to reach Ilirea, but Saphira had assured him otherwise. He should have known better than to question her; she had proven him wrong once again.

He turned and walked towards the gorse trees and ducked under them and retrieved his belt and sword from where they lay amidst the saddlebags. He was tired and sore from a long day in the saddle, but he would not forsake his daily ritual now. Leaving the shade of the trees, he walked out a ways to where the ground was flat and packed hard from years without rain. He removed his shirt, so that his sweat wouldn't soil it and drew Brisingr from its sheath and threw the belt and sheath to the ground. He strode two paces and dropped into a crouch, turning his right side towards an imaginary opponent.

He started simple with the forms he had learned nearly five years ago from Brom, his father. As he moved and progressed, the forms became more and more complicated and he flowed from one to the next with practiced ease. He could best every elf that had accompanied him to Du Fells Flauga, and sometimes even two at a time. He continued moving through the forms, surpassing those that Oromis had taught him and moving into one's he had learned from books and memories of the Eldunari. Forms that even the elves had trouble recalling. As he moved, he modified them in subtle ways, reacting to his imaginary opponent and improvising as needed. Brisingr moved in a blue streak from one stroke to the next, parrying and striking at multiple foes now, nearly invisible to the human eye. He finished with a vicious cut that cleaved his opponent from neck to hip and stopped the tip of the sword an inch from the ground.

He breathed heavily and his body glistened with sweat, but he was not winded. He had spent his time in Du Fells Flauga wisely and had learned much from the documents and memories of the Eldunari, while not allowing his physical performance to slip. Even for an elf, he was in excellent condition and could have continued the exercise for an hour without showing any fatigue. But he would need his energy in the days to come, so he cut this one short. He retrieved his shirt and belt from where they lay on the ground, slipped Brisingr back into its sheath and strode back towards the patch of gorse trees.

Selecting a spot he believed would have the most shade later in the day, he laid down and controlled his breathing. However, his waking dreams did not take him like he had hoped. Instead, he lay awake as the sun continued to climb towards its zenith, his thoughts plagued by everything he had learned since his return.

The assassination of Baruk and his young dragon, Argeten, weighed on him heavily. He did not know the young Rider or his dragon, but he felt a bond of camaraderie with them nonetheless. He vowed silently to himself that Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin would be punished for their treachery, once and for all.

The fact that it had taken three years for one of the eggs to hatch made him wonder if the dragons were not as pleased with the new pact as the Urgals and dwarves. It was possible that after so many years bonding with elves and humans, that the dragons would be reluctant to alter their opinions of the other races. Bringing more eggs back to Alagaesia might help solve the problem, especially if a number were given to the elves and humans as well. Recent events had confirmed his thoughts that more riders were needed, regardless of their race. But that was something he would have to address later; he had more pressing matters at the moment.

Ra'zac being loose in Alagaesia troubled him as well, but not as much as the wards that had been placed on the Ra'zac he killed, making them impervious to The Word. The thought still haunted him… No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't figure out how anyone else could have possibly cast those wards. Whoever it was, had to know The Word… and that left one person: Murtagh.

He had not heard from his brother since he left to go north three years ago. Murtagh had done terrible things under the command of Galbatorix, but in the end he had proven to be Eragon's greatest ally. He just couldn't understand why his brother would order the assassination of Arya and protect the Ra'zac… it didn't make sense. Yet, the only other explanation was that someone somehow had learned The Word. He wasn't sure which scenario bothered him more…The Word was a powerful weapon, it enabled the wielder to literally alter any and all magic around him or her, and the thought of someone malicious wielding this kind of power was extremely disconcerting… whether it be Murtagh or another.

His one comfort was that Murtagh did not have any Eldunari. He had given those to Eragon before heading north all those years ago. If it came down to a duel with his brother, they would be on even terms in that they both knew The Word, but Eragon would have the Eldunari on his side. He would not hesitate; as much as he wanted to save Murtagh, if he could not be controlled, Eragon would kill him. The finality with which he decided this shocked him, and he realized that he had changed more than he previously realized.

_Gods, Murtagh… prove me wrong,_ he thought to himself, before finally slipping into his waking dreams.

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	12. Blood and Fire

**A/N: Here's week 12, that's 2 additional weeks from my original promise! Thanks again to my awesome beta MidnightRain6593 for helping me out once again!**

**Make sure to drop a review for a sneak peak (I hope) of next week's chapter! Thanks for reading and reviewing, hang in there with me as these posts become ****farther apart.**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 12: Blood and Fire**

Krongur sat, sipping mead from a tall mug as he watched two off-duty Ingeitum warriors play dice on a table in the large outdoor dining area. It was early morning of the day following the departure of Orik and his troops to Tronjheim. Krongur estimated that the force should be within 15 miles of Tronjheim by now, and, if all went according to plan, back in their respective holds within four days' time. Orik would have to stay in Tronjheim longer in order to reestablish order in the capital city, but half of the Ingeitum warriors would return without him.

One of the dwarves cursed as he lost a particularly valuable roll.

"Captain!"

Krongur lowered the mug and stood up, searching for where the call had come from. He spotted a very young dwarf in full battle dress running as fast as his armor would allow him towards the dining area. Krongur strode confidently out to meet the dwarf, projecting an aura of calm as he moved. It would do no good to startle anybody if this fool was just jumping at shadows.

The dwarf reached him and stopped, bending over and putting his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, Krongur waiting impatiently for a few moments before he spoke.

"Well? Make your report, son!"

"Sir," the dwarf said, still gasping between each word. "There… we… we… spotted… a host… three miles… south… sir!"

"A host? How big?" Krongur's large bushy white eyebrows furrowed together as he mulled over in his mind the possibilities. It couldn't be a detachment from Orik's party; it was the wrong direction.

"About…ten thousand strong, sir!" The dwarf responded, finally catching his breath enough to speak normally.

_Ten Thousand?! There was only one explanation for that,_ Krongur thought. _Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn are attacking Bregan Hold!_

"Right, spread the word. Man the battlements and war machines! I want half the garrison on the walls, and the other half to stand to behind the main gates!"

"Yes, sir!" The dwarf replied and hurried off, shouting, "To arms! To arms!"

Krongur took a deep breath and walked at a brisk pace towards his quarters where he donned his leather jerkin, followed by a silver breastplate that gleamed in the sunlight. That was followed by his gauntlets and greaves, and finally a leather arming cap and silver helm upon his head. He hefted his large battle axe and made a practice swing before sheathing the weapon over his shoulder as he had so many times before.

He exited his quarters and was met with a flurry of commotion as dwarves rushed here and there, donning armor and grabbing weapons. The women and children were being herded into the main hall by Grimstcarvlorss Hvedra, where they would stay until it was safe for them once again. Hvedra looked up as he exited his quarters and he gave her a reassuring nod as he made his way up to the main gatehouse.

Bregan Hold was a well-defended city. It sat high in the Beors, high enough that any approaching army would have to ascend a steep hill before reaching the main gate. The back gate opened onto a high road that wound its way towards Farthen Dur, descending the whole way, but the road was narrow and steep on both sides and it was defended at all times by three separate gatehouses along the way, making it nearly impossible to attack. Thus, the only way to attack the city was in the front, climbing the steep grade and assaulting the main gate and wall. It was the reason why Orik was so confident that three thousand warriors could defend the city against almost anything; they really only needed to defend one side of it.

He was pleased to see that his orders had been carried out and that half of the garrison stood to attention along the main wall and gatehouse, and the other half stood too in the empty ground behind the gate. Some were still struggling into armor or rushing into position, but for the most part, they were all there. He planned to have the rest of the garrison rush up the walls as soon as he gave the signal, hoping to intimidate whatever force was approaching.

When he reached the top of the gatehouse, he looked and saw that the four bastion towers were swarming with engineers, readying the four catapults to fling rock and debris down upon any attackers. In addition, to the catapults the main wall was lined with six different sets of log rollers which could be lit and rolled down the slope, an extremely dangerous weapon in such a position. The wall was not large, but its seven foot height was much more imposing atop the huge hill and Krongur knew from experience how easily the city could be defended. It gave him confidence even as he gazed out at the approaching force.

The young dwarf had been mistaken in his excitement; the host that approached the city could be no larger than eight or nine thousand strong, a much more believable number considering he could see the banners of Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn flying high amongst the troops. The two clans were known for their bravery, but they were relatively small and it appeared they had scraped together every last warrior for this march.

The host stopped well short of the base of the hill, staying out of range of the catapults and log rollers for the time being. No negotiation party detached itself, no attack horns blew, the host just sat there in silence.

Krongur called for a looking glass and a small golden tube with convex and concave glass pieces fitted at each end was handed up to him. The device allowed him to see a great deal further and he used it to scan the army in front of him. There was no mistaking the banners and he even recognized Grimsborith Galdhiem of Durgrimst Feldunost at the front of the host.

"What are they doing?" He muttered to himself.

Scanning with the looking glass, he noticed something that seemed out of place. Towards the middle of the host stood what appeared to be a man. Dressed in a black cloak with the hood pulled up, Krongur couldn't be sure but it definitely was either a man or an elf. The sight was disconcerting, but before he could give it much thought a single blast of a war horn sounded and the host began moving towards the gate.

As they moved towards the hill, the host split into three. The two outer sections were much larger than the middle and they advanced much slower. The middle section was made up of a couple hundred dwarves and advanced at a brisk pace with shields presented in every direction, forming a wedge as they came to the base of the hill. Looking through the glass, he saw that the figure in black was with the section on the right, but he appeared to be focusing all his attention on the group in the middle.

"Loose the catapults!" Krongur shouted and the thwack of throwing arms being released resounded in his ears.

The stones arced high out over the wall and came crashing down, three of them landing short of the outer sections while one sailed true and struck the middle section with a horrendous crash. The men on the wall cheered at the sound, but stopped abruptly when they realized what had really happened.

The stone had stopped twenty feet away from the advancing column and shattered into a thousand pieces. It was as if it had hit wall of solid granite that was protecting the section.

Krongur knew plenty enough about magic to know that the stone had struck some sort of a ward. He also knew enough to know that to stop a thousand pound rock by shattering it required an enormous amount of energy and that whatever magician was responsible should be dead.

"Light the logs!" He cried. The command was echoed along the wall and the logs were lit and released down the hill, but as they hit the middle column they split in two and kept rolling down the hill, like they had just run into a giant axe.

"Aim for the middle column!" He shouted to the engineers. The column had made it about a quarter of the way up the hill when four more stones launched in its direction. The first hit had marked the range and now the catapults would be much more accurate. All four found their mark and just like the one before them, they exploded into a thousand pieces upon impacting the ward.

Cold fear gripped Krongur as he realized that whoever was behind this foul magic was quite possibly the most powerful magician in the world. Now he realized why they dared attack such a strong position; they couldn't be touched. If the catapults couldn't pierce the ward, then their arrows and slingshot would have no effect on it either. More than likely, it was just a projectile ward, but if they broke down the gate, they would be outnumbered three to one!

A thought suddenly occurred to him: _The strange man in the black cloak! That has to be the magician, if we can distract him enough the ward may falter and we can attack the middle column with the battering ram._

"Aim for the far right section!" He shouted to the engineers, he saw confused looks on their faces as the middle column got closer and closer to the gate. They were now more than halfway up the hill and still advancing fast. "Just do it!" he yelled.

A few moments later, loud thwacks filled the air and the stones arced up once more, going farther and higher than before. The range was extreme and all four stones landed short of the far right section, but continued bouncing down the hill and exploded into the section of warriors, sending bodies sprawling in every direction.

Looking through the glass, Krongur observed as one stone came hurtling down towards the figure in black and crashed against his wards, stopping in its tracks. The figure turned in surprise, his concentration broken by the sudden attack on his own person.

"Loose arrows!" Krongur called out. There was no need to specify where; the middle column was the only section remotely within range of the urgal horned bows wielded by the dwarves.

The effect of the arrows was minimal even though the ward had faltered as the magician struggled to protect himself from the oncoming boulders, the formation had not faltered. Most of the arrows found a shield but a few punched through the wall and found a target. Evidence of this lay with the dead and wounded dwarves who were left behind unceremoniously as the column continued its rapid advance. Krongur cursed himself for releasing the logs already. They would have been of great use now…

The catapults and archers continued their barrage, but the magician moved back, well out of range of the catapults and was again focusing on the ward he placed over the column with the battering ram. The arrows and slingshot had whittled down the column to about half its original size as it closed the remaining few yards to the gate, but now the ward returned and the missiles had no effect.

The two other sections began advancing as well, funneling in towards the middle as the battering ram began pounding at the gate. The gatehouse shook under the impact from the heavy iron tipped ram that pounded continuously at the gate. Krongur hurried down the stairs, taking half of the men on the walls with him to help reinforce those on the ground. That gate would give way soon enough and when it did, they would have to keep the enemy from spilling in. If they could bottle them up in the gateway, then and only then would they stand a chance at holding out against the enemies superior numbers.

"Hold steady! Keep them in the gateway when they come through! Hold the lines!" He shouted in between each crash of the battering ram. It was only a matter of time now. The thick wood of the gate was already splintering with each additional impact. The locking bars were shuddering in their brackets, ready to give.

"Here they come!" One, two, three hits later, the gate burst inwards with a horrendous crash and screech of metal as the brackets for the locking bars were torn from their place. Enemy dwarves piled in through the breech and Krongur, in the middle of the front line, shouted, "Advance!" With five quick steps the block of two thousand Ingeitum warriors pushed forward into the gap as one body, driving the press of enemies back through the gate. Those who were already in were trapped against the gatehouse and cut down without mercy. The Ingeitum continued to push forward and at one point, Krongur and the six other dwarves who were with him in the middle of the front line were inside the gatehouse itself, driving the remnants of the first enemy assault back through the gate. Then they broke and retreated back down the hill.

A great cheer went up throughout the ranks of the Ingeitum when the enemy broke and ran. However, Krongur saw that the other two sections had joined the middle column now, consolidating all nine thousand warriors into a single, huge column. They would use the weight of their numbers to try and push the Ingeitum back from the gate until they could swarm through and surround them. He looked around for his nearest spellcaster, wanting to ask if they'd been attacked by the mysterious magician yet. Yarlgrod, his best spellcaster, was standing, frozen in place, his eyes shut and brow furrowed in concentration. A quick glance showed that his other four spellcasters were in similar situations, although one of them was on one knee with a pained expression across his face.

These were some of the finest spellcasters of his people and quite possibly of the dwarven race, aside from Durgrimst Quan, left behind by Orik for that particular reason. They could have easily overcome any of Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn spellcasters had this mysterious magician not been present.

"Brazul!" Krongur cursed at their luck. Without the advantage of his spellcasters and with the gate already in pieces, nothing could save them from eventually being overrun by the superior force that opposed them. If Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn took Bregan Hold, Orik would be hard pressed to take it back, even with the twenty thousand or so troops currently under his command. A king who could not protect his own clan would lose the support of his people.

"Here they come!" Came a shout from somewhere up on the wall.

"Form up!" Krongur shouted, "We'll drive them back again!" And they did. Three times the enemy came at the gate, and three times the Ingeitum drove them back. Yet, the fighting cost numerous lives on both sides. Bodies lay strewn throughout the gateway, and Krongur's men were in the process of piling up the dead to form a makeshift funnel from the gateway.

The fourth time the enemy came was different. Somewhere, the Ingeitum line broke and the enemy pushed forward into the middle of their ranks. Before the line could be mended, enemy warriors were in their midst, tearing apart the formation.

_We are lost…_ Krongur thought to himself.

But the line did close and the Ingeitum cut down the warriors who had pushed through and slowly the formation began to take shape once more, but it was too late. The front line had been pushed back in the process and the enemy was inside, past the makeshift funnel of bodies, swarming around the tight Ingeitum formation.

The Ingeitum spellcasters were once again locked in mental battle with the mysterious magician who assaulted them from a great distance.

An earsplitting roar split the sky and Krongur looked up, his heart filled with hope! He strained to catch a glimpse of green or even miraculously a glint of blue that would mean they were saved.

His eyes caught a different color, the color of blood…

Instead of hope, he was filled with hatred and fear as he watched the blood-red dragon descend. It dawned on him then that the mysterious magician had to be none other than Murtagh, the King Killer himself!

The enemy had stopped fighting as well and they all stared up in wonder as the dragon plummeted towards the earth and unleashed a torrent of red flame over the battlefield. Krongur could feel the heat of the flames overhead and many of the warriors cowered in fear. The dragon spread its wings wide and flapped twice before landing with a thunderous crash on top of the gatehouse.

Krongur could see now that a rider dressed in shining silver plate sat atop the dragon and he realized that the mysterious magician could not be Murtagh after all, for he was there atop his dragon. Murtagh's voice boomed out over the battlefield, magically enhanced.

"Grimsborith Galdheim, Grimsborith Undin!" He said forcefully, "You will withdraw your forces immediately or I will punish you accordingly for the oaths you have broken to your king!"

Grimsborith Undin stepped forward and challenged the red rider. "You have no power here, King Killer!"

Immediately, a wave of pain racked Murtagh's head and Krongur saw him put a hand to his head and close his eyes, concentrating. Krongur put it together immediately; he had been attacked by the mysterious magician and was currently battling him with his mind. He looked around and saw that Yarlgrod and the other spellcasters were no longer engaged and he pushed his way through the ranks of the Ingeitum to reach Yarlgrod. As he did, Grimsborith Undin shouted an order and his troops closed once again with the Ingeitum, the air was filled with the sounds of battle.

Finally reaching Yarlgrod, he shouted above the din, "Help Murtagh! If he loses, we all die!"

Yarlgrod looked strained and weak, but he managed a snarl and said, "I'll not help that KingKiller!"

Krongur's backhand took the young spellcaster by surprise and he stumbled under the impact of the blow.

"You fool!" Krongur spat. "You don't think I want to see that KingKiller strung up for his crimes?! Hrothgar was mine friend for longer than you've been alive! But the only way out of this is if Murtagh prevails!"

Yarlgrod looked stricken by the older dwarf's outburst, but he nodded his assent, finally realizing the danger of the situation.

Krongur watched as the spellcaster closed his eyes and contacted the other dwarven spellcasters, explaining the situation. He glanced up at Murtagh and saw his snarl turn into a slight smile…

Murtagh grinned as he felt the presence of the five Ingeitum spellcasters begin to assault the mind of this strange magician.

For a while, he had been concerned that this magician would overcome him; he had never been attacked with such force before. It was as if every fiber of the man's being was thrumming with magic. Only Murtagh's many years of training and the support of Thorn allowed him to stave off the man's attacks.

However, the dwarves were strong and as soon as they began assailing the enemy magician, Murtagh felt the pressure against his own mind abate slightly as the man strove to defend multiple attacks.

He launched his consciousness forward in a mental probe of precision and power that drove into the man's defenses. Again and again, he pounded on the solid wall that surrounded the man's mind, breaking it down further each time. He felt the man's concentration slipping and he knew it was only a matter of time before they broke through.

Once more he threw his mental spike at the man's defenses and this time, he broke through the barrier surrounding his mind. He was met with a cascade of memories that made no sense.

_A young elf fleeing from a burning forest…_

_A small group of elves gathered around a fire, speaking in the ancient language, small snippets that he couldn't quite understand…_

_An image of Eragon and Saphira flying over Vroengard in the midst of a severe storm…_

And then it was gone, everything was gone. The memories, the consciousness vanished like they were never even there.

**Was that not a good entrance, eh? Hope you liked it, be sure to drop that review!**


	13. Murtagh

Inheritance Cycle Book V: Ebrithil p.8

**A/N: A bittersweet moment this one, but thanks again to my awesome beta MidnightRain6593 for coming through for me once again. I have been faithful in updating every week for the past 13 weeks, further than what I had even promised from the beginning. I hope you all appreciate that, and can bear with me hear as the chapters begin to be more spread out.**

**As a biology health professions major with a chemistry minor my free time is almost non-existent and I've struggled to find time to write since coming back to college. That DOES NOT mean I will not continue this story, IT WILL BE FINISHED! Just hang with me, I'll try to update as often as possible.**

**Let me know how I did here eh? I'd love to know what you guys think and whether you want to see this story continued or not.**

**Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 13: Murtagh**

Nasuada woke with a start; she could hear someone saying her name…

"Nasuada, are you there?"

She fumbled with the mirror that lay by her bedside, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she did. Turning the mirror facedown she tried desperately to fix her hair into a reasonable shape as she lit the candle that sat on the bedside table. The mirror had been a gift from Murtagh. He had given it to her the first time he visited her, nearly six months after Eragon killed Galbatorix and Murtagh and Thorn had vanished into the wilderness.

He had visited her exactly six times since then, all in the last year and never staying longer than a night. They would talk of things he'd seen, of places he'd been, her struggles and joys of running her own kingdom, anything and everything. He was her outlet but that was all; he had turned down every one of her advances, albeit as gently as possible. They both knew that Galbatorix's reign was not forgotten and Murtagh's own role would not be either. Be that as it may, she had tried to convince him to come out of hiding that she needed him to, but she could never sway him and she wondered if there was a deeper reason as to why they couldn't be together in his mind.

She composed herself and picked up the mirror from where it lay on the bed. Murtagh's face was drawn and weary, his long shaggy hair unkempt and his face covered in stubble.

"Lady Nasuada," he greeted her with a tired smile.

"Murtagh! Where have you been?" She sounded concerned and angry at the same time.

"I've been… busy," he answered, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"Murtagh, it's been months since you've contacted me…"

"I know, I know… I've been in the Beors, hunting Ra'zac…" He responded apologetically.

"Ra'zac? How did you know it was the Ra'zac?" She asked, more curious than angry at him keeping information from her.

"We've killed a few of them. We followed trading parties and waited, watching their camp locations through the night. Every now and then, we'd get lucky and the Ra'zac or one of their mounts would attack at the edge of the camp. It sounds morbid, but it worked," he said matter-of-factly. "But that's not why I contacted you," he continued in a more urgent manner.

She gave him a curious glance and he continued.

"Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn attacked Bregan Hold earlier today," he said flatly. "Less than a day after Orik marched on Farthen Dur with twenty thousand warriors."

"What?! Surely Orik left a sufficient garrison in place?" She asked, bewildered as to how Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn had stolen a march against Bregan Hold.

"He did, more than sufficient, with some of the strongest Ingeitum spellcasters. But they were still overwhelmed. Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn made it through the gate somehow."

"Oh God! How's that possible?" She asked. She had been raised amongst the Dwarves and knew how impenetrable Bregan Hold was. "With Bregan Hold lost, Orik will be hard pressed to keep the support of his allies!"

"Nasuada, slow down. I never said Bregan Hold was lost," Murtagh cut in.

"Wha-? I don't understand. You said they breached the walls?"

"Aye, they breached the walls before I reached Bregan Hold," he said solemnly. "I demanded that Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn withdraw else I would punish them accordingly. They refused, and I was attacked by a magician; stronger than any I've ever encountered before." He stopped here and looked down and shook his head.

"I would have died Nasuada. Thorn and I could barely hold him off, he was so strong! But the Ingeitum spellcasters, they helped me. Together we broke him and I got a glimpse of his memories before he just vanished, turned to ash from what I can tell."

The shock was evident on Nasuada's face, but she didn't speak because she sensed that Murtagh wasn't quite finished.

"Nasuada the memories… the magician… he was an elf. More powerful than any elf I've met, but an elf nonetheless. Don't trust the elves, not until you know their true intentions. Do you understand what I'm saying, Nasuada?

She nodded "Yes, but how do we know it wasn't just one who defected?"

"We don't, but until we can discern the truth you can't trust any of them."

"I understand, Murtagh, but what are you going to do now? Stay in Bregan Hold?" She asked incredulously.

Murtagh let out a bark of laughter, "The Ingeitum turned on me as soon as we defeated the magician and Thorn scared away the rest of Durgrimst Feldunost and Durgrimst Ragnai Hefthyn. I guess they haven't quite forgiven me for killing Hrothgar. I didn't want to kill them all, so I left," he finished bluntly.

He picked up the mirror and moved it around so she could see the cave he was in. Thorn was curled up in one corner of it, peering steadily at the mirror with one huge red eye as Murtagh placed it back on his lap.

"Thus the cave," he said drily.

"I… I'm sorry Murtagh," Nasuada said.

She knew that was the reason he went into hiding, because he didn't want people to hate him or to fear him. The things he had done under Galbatorix still haunted him and anything that reminded him of that was extremely painful. He had taken a great risk in revealing himself to the dwarves, as they would be the race most inclined to hate him. But he had saved thousands of lives, and kept Orik on the throne in doing so and for that she admired him. Putting his own life at risk to prevent the loss of so many more was something the old Murtagh would have never done.

"_No stranger's life is more important than Thorn's or my own."_She knew that Murtagh had told Eragon that a number of years ago; she was amazed at how much he had changed since then.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Just make sure you keep Elva close by. I'll be in contact shortly."

He moved to put the mirror away, but stopped when she called out, "Murtagh!" His face reappeared in the mirror, his eyebrows raised in question. She hesitated for a moment before saying, "Be careful."

He smiled slightly and brushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. "And you." Then he was gone, the mirror returning to its original reflective state.

Murtagh ended the spell and placed the mirror into one of the saddlebags that lay on the floor of the cave near Thorn. He sighed, rose to his feet, and stretched. Thorn gave him a curious glance as he began pacing around the meager space not taken up by the massive dragon.

_You're wrong._

Murtagh stopped abruptly and looked up at Thorn who turned his head so that one giant eye was looking at his partner.

_We cannot go to Vroengard and seek these elves,_ Thorn continued.

_We must. It is the only way; we must go and destroy them. I will not run and hide any longer!_ He said forcefully, gesturing emphatically at the cave surrounding them.

_Murtagh… I understand. The hate and the anger… it affects me just like it does you. But flying to our deaths is not the answer. You felt how powerful the two-legs-pointy-ears was… if there are more of them there, we would be overwhelmed… Besides, we don't even know that the pointy-ears are on the island, it was just a memory._

Although he hated to admit that he could not do anything, Murtagh knew that his partner was right. They had almost lost the struggle with this one elf. If his fellows were anywhere near as powerful, they wouldn't stand a chance. They would need help, but he couldn't trust the elves, so it wouldn't be coming from Arya. The dwarves still wanted him dead, even after he'd saved the Ingeitum and Orik's kingship. That left one person…

_Eragon._ With the Eldunari at his side Eragon would be more than a match for the power of these mysterious elves… but he was God knows where. Murtagh hadn't spoken with him since the day they killed Galbatorix and he had no way of contacting him now.

_Nasuada would,_ Thorn interrupted his thoughts.

Murtagh stopped pacing and turned to look at his partner. _We can't Thorn. I won't do that to her. Besides, visiting her just makes it hurt worse for both of us. Not only will it destroy her reputation to be seen with us, but you know just as well as I that we can never be together. I'm immortal, and she, well…_

Thorn waited impatiently as Murtagh continued to ramble about reasons why he and Nasuada couldn't be together, how fate had a cruel interest in him. Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he let out a low growl that stopped his two-legs in mid-sentence.

_Murtagh. I will say this once. If being with Nasuada will make you happy, then you should be together, regardless of the implications. I am sick of you being miserable. As for flying to Ilirea, we need Eragon and Saphira, regardless of your intentions with Nasuada. This is bigger than just us Murtagh, all of Alagaesia could be in danger. I will not cower like a rat in a hole and watch our world burn!_

Murtagh was staring at his dragon with a grim expression on his face as he listened. When Thorn finished he said out loud, "Aye, you're right of course, Thorn. I will not sit idly and watch either. I think it's finally time for us to come out of hiding." He was grinning slightly even as he said it.

Thorn let out a thunderous roar that shook the cave they resided in, jubilant at the prospect of finally emerging from seclusion.

An hour later, Murtagh and Thorn were flying fast between the peaks of the Beors, making all speed towards Ilirea. Murtagh relied on Thorns innate sense of direction and impeccable night-vision to keep them on track in the dim moonlight that filtered in through dark clouds. He had wasted no time in saddling Thorn and strapping on their meager possessions amidst the saddlebags. Aside from his silver plated armor, Zar'roc, bow and arrows, and his shield, they had little to call their own save for a few packs of traveling rations Murtagh had bought a few months ago while posing as a farm hand in Petrovya.

The first two years after he and Thorn had left Ilirea had been spent flying north, following the spine and giving a wide berth to any settlement they came across. When they passed Ceunon, now controlled by the elves, the villages became sparser and the land appeared untouched by anything except the local wildlife. Still they had flown north in and out of the Spine and even into parts of what he suspected was uninhabited portions of Du Weldenvarden, in search of something neither of them could explain.

It took them awhile to realize what they were searching for was not a place, but peace with themselves, with what they had done under Galbatorix's rule. They never found it, the peace they had been seeking, but they found many other wonders never seen in Alagaesia before and they learned much of themselves. They came to realize that they could not undo what they had done, the innocent people they had killed, how he had tortured Nasuada…and neither could they accept it. The one thing they could do was move on and that's why they had come back. To move on and put their past behind them and to try and better the land they had unwillingly helped destroy.

However, their attempts had been met with animosity and violence and so they had gone into hiding, but still they observed and reported anything unusual to Nasuada. On numerous occasions, Murtagh had gone disguised into a major city to root out a conspiracy or assassination attempt on an important supporter of Nasuada. But none of that had concerned him like the situation they were currently in. The elves were by far the most magical race, and if this magician was any indication of their power then they could wipe out any and all of their enemies.

But why? What would they gain from such a war? No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't discern any viable reason for the elves to instigate a continent wide war. He took a deep breath as Thorn banked hard to his left and dove, catching Murtagh off guard, he hung on tightly with his legs as Thorn descended alarmingly fast and relayed set of images and smells that Murtagh understood perfectly.

_Lethrblaka, Ra'zac!_

He drew Zar'roc from where it was strapped to the saddle and glanced around anxiously for any sign of their pursuers. In the dim moonlight, the Ra'zac and their mounts would have a distinct advantage over Murtagh especially. Thorn could see well enough in the dark, but his huge frame and sparkling scales would make him an easy target for the Lethrblaka.

He sent a mental image to Thorn with what he was about to do, and then reached into a small pocket attached to the saddle and withdrew a smooth marble sized metal ball. He had found the metal quite by accident on their journey in the North about a year ago. It was extremely flammable and emitted an extraordinary amount of light when it caught fire. He murmured, "Bollr risa," and the metal ball shot into the air, propelled by the energy Murtagh fed it.

Thorn pulled up abruptly from his short dive and began to ascend rapidly in order to get above their attackers. As he did, Murtagh shielded his eyes and shouted "Brisingr!" And the metal orb that was now hundreds of feet above them burst into a magnificent white light, sending bits of the flaming metal flying in every direction. The light illuminated a huge swath of sky and land. As Murtagh glanced around, he glimpsed three huge black shapes not thirty feet behind Thorn. The Lethrblaka shrieked and hesitated as the light blinded them for a moment.

It was all the time that Murtagh needed. He slipped out of the saddle straps and launched himself backwards, falling towards the Lethrblaka. Thorn turned quickly and followed. Blinded by the light, his foes didn't see him falling towards them and he landed feet first on the foremost Lethrblaka and plunged Zar'roc deep into the creatures shoulder. Letting his momentum take him, he tore his sword from its hide and continued his fall towards the next two Lethrblaka. They had more time than their unfortunate counterpart and veered quickly to avoid the plummeting Murtagh. He slashed out violently to his right as he hurtled past the shrieking creatures and was rewarded with jarring thud as his blade sliced through the Lethrblaka and imbedded itself in the ribcage.

His reward was short-lived as the strap that connected Zar'roc's pommel to his wrist went tight and he felt the bones in his wrist snap violently and his shoulder wrench as his fall came to an unconventional stop. He screamed in agony as pain shot up his arm and wracked his entire body, but the adrenaline took over and he could feel his descent beginning again as the mortally wounded Lethrblaka began to fall out of the sky, struggling to maintain altitude. Fighting through the pain he pulled his knife from his belt and cut the black leather strap that held his mangled hand to Zar'roc which was stuck firmly in the creature's ribcage.

With his left foot, he pushed away from the shrieking Lethrblaka and began falling on his own, preparing a spell in his mind that would keep him from hitting the ground, but he needn't have worried; he caught a brief flash of red to his left and Thorn was diving beside him, having caught up after Murtagh's fall had been interrupted. He eased his legs into the saddle and Thorn pulled up, sending Murtagh a brief glimpse of the remaining Lethrblaka mangled and broken hurtling towards the ground alongside its companions.

Murtagh was hit with a sudden wave of nausea as the pain in his wrist returned with a vengeance. He pulled a small silver object from one of the saddle bags and pressed it against his wrist, he gasped as the bones popped back into place the tendons and ligaments crawled back together. Slowly the pain began to fade and he flexed his hand and wrist, checking to make sure the motion was all still there. He knew that the spell had more than likely missed a few nerves or connective tissue, but it would serve for now. He would look at it more closely when they landed in Uru'baen.

Thorn descended at a much more leisurely pace than their recent headlong fall and landed with a soft thud on a small rise where one of the fallen Lethrblaka lay writhing and shrieking. Wary of the Ra'zac that may have accompanied their parents, Murtagh strung his bow and put an arrow into the heart of the dying creature. He approached cautiously and examined the creature, looking for Zar'roc that was still stuck in one of their hides. Fate favored him as he caught a glimpse of red amidst the leathery body and blue-green blood that smeared the ground where the Lethrblaka had landed. He glanced around and saw that Thorn was circling Murtagh and the dead Lethrblaka, keeping a wary eye out for any of its companions. Stooping Murtagh laid his bow on the ground and gripped Zar'roc with his left hand, still favoring his right in his mind. He grasped the pommel and with a good deal of pushing and pulling finally managed to prize the sword from its fleshy prison.

Wiping Zar'roc on the grass a few steps away, he held the sword up to inspect, still amazed that not a scratch could be seen anywhere on the blood-red blade or its silver pommel. Although carrying his father's sword associated with him in a way he would never wish it to, but for practical reasons it was well worth the stigma that came with it.

He straightened, sheathed Zar'roc, strode towards Thorn, and with a single swift motion leaped up, caught his left foot in the stirrup and swung himself over the saddle with practiced ease.

By unspoken consent, Thorn heaved himself off the ground and with a few flaps of his massive wings, they rose above the tainted ground, eager to put distance between them and the carcasses they left behind.

Murtagh sighed. The fight didn't bother him. He was well used to bloodshed…it was Nasuada that worried him. If whoever was behind these attacks got to her first… He shuddered at the thought.

Murtagh felt the slight increase in speed as Thorn flapped harder, driven by the same feelings that haunted his partner-of-heart-and-mind.

**So how did I do? Make sure you let me know if you want more, the more encouragement the better! Thanks for reading!**


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